


The World According to Draco Malfoy

by marysiak



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hogwarts First Year, Malfoy Family, Malfoy Manor, POV Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:04:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6268843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marysiak/pseuds/marysiak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone told from the point of view of Draco Malfoy. This is a finished unfinished work that I started to try and firm up my characterisation of Draco in The Marks We Bear. As there were never intended to be any plot differences between this story and the original books 1-4 I may not ever finish it, we'll see how it goes, Ch5 is the first new chapter in years. It's essentially a point of view exercise to get into Draco's head better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Learning To Be A Malfoy

**Author's Note:**

> A note on canon faults. Ch1-4 were written before we knew a lot of things including what wand Draco had and when his birthday was. So I made them up and have left it as it was written. Rather proud that I got 2 out of 3 right on my wand guess, only my wood is different from Draco's canon wand.

The World According to Draco Malfoy

by Marysia (Nov 2002)

Rating: G

Summary: The first 4 books told from Draco's point of view. Prequel to The Marks We Bear.

Notes: Apologies for my lousy French, my French-English dictionary has gone astray.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

 

**Chapter 1 - Learning To Be A Malfoy**

Draco Malfoy had never spent more than two nights away from his mother in his entire young life. As such, the prospect of being away from her for an entire four months, one hundred and thirteen days to be precise, was terrifying.

To make it even worse he would have to share a bedroom, possibly with as many as five or six complete strangers. He had to get into the same house as Crabbe and Goyle, he just had to, and they had to be in Slytherin or his father would be very upset.

At least he wasn't going away to the school his father had wanted to send him to, somewhere away across the sea where it was dark almost all the time and cold and, according to his mother, there were bears! His mother had flat out refused to let father send him there no matter how bad he thought Hogwarts was. She had studied at Beauxbatons and it sounded really nice, but he was glad he wasn't going there either as that was over the sea in mainland Europe too. Much too far away from home.

It would have been fun to speak French all the time though, as they apparently did there. Draco's mother spoke to him in French sometimes, it was their secret language. Not many wizards in England could speak another language.

Not having his own room and being away from his mother weren't Draco's only worries about Hogwarts, though. Apparently they let mudbloods into Hogwarts. What if he had to share a room with one of them! Surely that wouldn't be allowed, it was disgusting, but father said the headmaster liked mudbloods and half-bloods better than purebloods. The headmaster sounded awful and Draco was sure he would be picked on for being pureblood. The mudbloods were certain to be jealous of him. That was another reason he had to be in the same house as Crabbe and Goyle, they were much bigger and stronger than him and he always felt safer with them around when he wasn't at home.

He had been friends with Crabbe and Goyle as long as he could remember, they didn't live very far away from him and they came over to the Manor to play all the time. Their fathers were friends of his father. Crabbe and Goyle had been to school before, not to Hogwarts but to a Primary School called Puddle-on-the-Hill Primary. Draco had never been to any school, he had been taught at the Manor by tutors and by his mother. He wasn't sure if he would know as much as everyone else or not, he seemed much smarter than Crabbe and Goyle and his mother said he was very clever, but his father always came out of meetings with his tutors looking dissatisfied and when he quizzed Draco, Draco never seemed to know the answers to half the questions he asked. But then his father was very, very clever.

Draco thought that his father was probably the cleverest and the most talented wizard in England, maybe even in the whole world. Except for the Dark Lord of course, but he wasn't around any more. Besides, the Dark Lord sounded rather scary. Not that his father couldn't be scary, but it was a different sort of scary. It was that sinking feeling in your stomach and tears pricking behind your eyes that you daren't let fall kind of scary, when he looked at you with that disappointed expression and you wondered whether this was the time when he would finally give up on you altogether because you were never strong enough, brave enough, smart enough...

The Dark Lord was that freezing still under your bedclothes, don't move or even breathe or it will get you, kind of scary. The kind of scary that made Draco sneak out of bed again after father had closed the bedroom door to relight the lamp. His father said that only mudbloods and squibs were afraid of the dark, a real wizard had nothing to be afraid of. Draco thought that was all very well but he didn't even have a wand yet and the light made everything seem safer. He wondered if there would be a light on in his dormitory at Hogwarts. Would any of the other boys be afraid of the dark or would they laugh at him? Draco hated being laughed at. When a boy had laughed at him when they were at the beach once, because his mother made him wear a wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun off his face, he had thrown sand in his face. The boy had gone running off crying to his mother and then Draco, Crabbe and Goyle had laughed at him. Malfoys did not allow other people to laugh at them.

Draco had heard a lot about Hogwarts from his father and from Crabbe and Goyle. He had also read a book his mother had given him called 'Hogwarts: A History'. Well, he'd read bits of it anyway, it had been long and a bit boring. Hogwarts was surrounded by a huge forest called the Forbidden Forest that students were not allowed to go into because it was full of dangerous creatures like werewolves and giant spiders and maybe even vampires. The castle itself was haunted, and not just by family ghosts like the Manor, but by terrifying blood drenched spectres, ghouls and a poltergeist.

Draco hated ghosts, hated the way they snuck up on you by walking through walls and froze your blood when they passed right through you. His father was very strict about who took up residence in the Manor and exorcised any unwelcome spirits immediately but that still left several family ghosts, Draco had never been entirely sure how many because some of them kept to themselves a lot. He had tried to persuade his father to exorcise all of the ghosts, but to no avail. Most of all Draco hated the ghost of his many-times-great-uncle Ambrosius. Great Uncle Ambrosius agreed with his father that Draco was too soft, too molly-coddled, but Great Uncle Ambrosius had a novel method of trying to fix this. He would tell Draco the most lurid stories of demons and monsters on the theory that if he frightened him enough, Draco would eventually toughen up. So far it hadn't been very successful, all it appeared to have done was give Draco terrible nightmares.

Sometimes, when his father was away, Draco would go through to his mother's room at night and she never minded if he asked to sleep with her. They would whisper in French about what they had done that day and what they might do the next.

Last night, Draco had slept in his own room, and he had dreamed he was being chased through a huge, dark forest by a monster he couldn't see. He had been having more nightmares than usual this summer as it grew closer and closer to the day he would leave for Hogwarts. That day was still over a month away, but today they were going to Diagon Alley to buy his school things and, most importantly, to get his first wand.

After breakfast they walked to the grand entrance hall of Malfoy Manor and put on their light summer travelling cloaks. Draco's father beckoned him to his side and put an unfamiliar arm around his shoulders, pulling him tight against him. It was very rare that Draco had any physical contact with his father, usually when they apparated somewhere his mother took him, and so he took advantage of the rare opportunity to press closer, turning his head in slightly so that he could smell the familiar mix of brandy and fur that he associated with his father. He knew it would not be long before he was too big to be apparated like this and they would have to use Portkeys or carriages to get around as a family. Then with a pop they were gone, and a heartbeat later they had reappeared in the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron.

As soon as they had arrived, his father stepped away from him, giving him a cold, questioning look when his arm lingered too long around his father's waist. He dropped it quickly and looked down at the ground, trying to muster up the kind of expression his father approved of. When he looked back up his face was suitably cool and haughty, but his eyes still betrayed him to anyone who was paying attention, they were a little too hopeful.

He was excited about the shopping trip, he loved to get new things even if they were boring school things for a place he didn't even want to go to. And he did want a wand, more than anything, even more than a new broom. Not that he was going to get a new broom since they weren't even allowed one at school, not in first year anyway. It was so unfair as flying was the one thing he was sure he was good at, even his father said he was an excellent flier and just the right build to play seeker in Quidditch. Not that he had ever played Quidditch really, though he had seen loads of matches with his father. He had a Comet 260 at home that he had got last year for his tenth birthday, but what he really wanted was one of the new Nimbus 2000 broomsticks, he hoped he would at least get to look at one while they were here. He was harbouring a vague hope that if he pestered his father enough he might get one for his birthday next month.

They entered Diagon Alley and his mother drew him over to Madam Malkin's. "Now, darling, we're going to leave you here to get fitted up for your new school uniform while we go and pick up some of the other things on your list."

Draco watched his father stride off into Flourish & Blotts wearing his 'attend to me, for I am Shopping and I have a lot of money to spend' face. His mother led him into the clothes shop and spoke to one of the assistants, then turned back to Draco.

"Behave yourself for Madam Malkin, Draco, and you can meet me in Ollivander's when you're finished here. That's the wand shop, it's only a few shops down on the right. D'accord?"

"Oui, maman," he smiled, knowing that she sensed his nerves. "Ca c'est bon."

She kissed his cheek and left the shop. When she was gone he turned around and stepped up onto the stool the woman there indicated. He looked around the shop as she started fitting his robes, usually Madam Malkin's was full of brightly coloured, dashingly cut robes with soft fabrics he loved to rub his cheek against, but today everything on display seemed to be boring and black. All school robes, he supposed, he had never been here during the back-to-school rush before.

He peered out the window, trying to spot children wandering by and wondering when he did if they were going to Hogwarts and if they would be in his year and if they would like him or not. The bell over the door rang and a small, nervous looking boy with tousled hair and glasses came into the shop. The clothes he was wearing were far too big for him and his glasses were held together with tape of some sort. Draco was almost certain his father would not approve of this scruffy boy, but Draco thought he looked rather pixie-like in his over-sized clothes with his big eyes and wild hair. He was alone and looked a little lost and somehow that made Draco feel more confident, he clearly wasn't the only one who was nervous about going to school.

The boy was shown to a stool next to Draco and Madam Malkin immediately threw a set of robes over his head, when he reappeared from under them he glanced at Draco curiously and Draco was delighted to see that he had bright green eyes. Draco had always wanted green eyes, he imagined that elves would have green eyes and he loved elves. Not house elves, but real elves, like in the stories his mother told him. Draco's eyes were grey like his father's, although his mother said they were silver. Her eyes were blue, which was better than grey but not anywhere near as good as green. Green was Draco's favourite colour.

Wondering if maybe he and this boy could be friends Draco said, "Hullo. Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," said the boy shortly.

Not really sure what to say next and nervous that he might make a bad impression, he didn't meet many other children and when he did his parents were always there to make formal introductions, Draco put on what he thought of as his Malfoy voice. It was the voice his father always used when talking to strangers and Draco found it invariably made him sound less nervous than he was. "My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," he said. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first-years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." The boy didn't look very interested. "Have you got your own broom?" Draco asked, trying to find something they might have in common.

"No," said the boy.

"Play Quidditch at all?" he asked hopefully.

"No," the boy answered again.

Draco had no idea what to say to that so he just kept going in the hopes that the boy would eventually give more than a one word answer. "I do - Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said the boy.

He wasn't even looking at him and somehow that just made Draco more determined to get through to him somehow. If he couldn't even make friends with one boy, how would he manage with a whole school? "Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they," Draco tried. "But I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

The boy made a non-committal noise, not even a word this time. This was going terribly. Draco suddenly spotted something startling outside the window, an enormous hairy man waving what looked like an ice cream was leering at them through the glass.

"I say!" Draco said in surprise. "Look at that man!" He nodded towards the window, unable to point as his hands were trapped in the robes being pinned around him.

"That's Hagrid," the boy told him. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said Draco, trying to remember what his father had said, he was sure he had mentioned someone called Hagrid. "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," the boy replied, still looking out the window.

Of course, Draco remembered now. "Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage - lives in a hut in the school grounds," Draco repressed a shudder as he watched the man through the window. He barely looked human with all that hair and he was so big he had to bend down slightly to look in the window at them, he hoped he had gone away before he had to leave the shop, "and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed." Draco had thought he sounded funny but seeing him now it didn't seem amusing at all to have a monster like that wandering drunk around the school, accidentally setting fire to things.

The boy turned back to him and his green eyes were glittery and cold like emeralds. "I think he's brilliant," the boy said sharply.

"Do you?" Draco replied, taken aback, suddenly realising the monster had been waving at the boy next to him. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?" He presumed the giant of a man outside couldn't possibly be the father of such a fine-boned boy.

"They're dead," the boy answered, turning away from him again.

"Oh." Draco got the feeling he had monumentally stuffed things up, but he didn't know what to say to fix things. Besides, he was beginning to wonder if he really did want to be friends with this boy after all. He wasn't very polite and if he was friends with a monster like that... what if he was talking to mudblood! "Sorry," he ventured. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

Draco heaved a huge sigh of relief, he was a pureblood after all, just a bit down on his luck obviously and if his parents were dead then he probably didn't have much choice in who looked after him. "I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine." Draco couldn't imagine never having heard of magic or wizards. "I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families." He suddenly realised he hadn't asked the boy his name, he was so used to having someone else to do the introducing. "What's your surname, anyway?"

But before the boy answered, Madam Malkin interrupted them. "That's you done, my dear," she said to the boy, who was apparently only getting the very basics.

The boy jumped down from his footstool and Draco called after him, "Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose."

He didn't even look back, never mind say goodbye, and Draco fought a tremble that was fighting its way towards his bottom lip. He was not going to get upset just because some stupid boy didn't seem to want to be friends with him. He was just one boy, there would be plenty of boys at school to be friends with, boys who wore clothes that fitted and didn't hang around with monstrous hairy men who looked like they might eat you as soon as talk to you. Stupid boy with his stupid green eyes.

Draco bit his lip and stared intently at the wall until the woman had finished fitting him.

It took quite some time before he was done, his mother having requested a large assortment of new clothes which she felt he required for the start of school, and when he was done he went to the door and peered out, trying to look casual. The rude, green-eyed boy and the giant man were nowhere in sight and he could see the battered sign for Ollivander's just down the street, so he squared his shoulders and set out. He hadn't taken more than three steps when out of the very shop he was walking towards came the very people he was trying to avoid. He ducked back behind a large barrel as the huge man led the boy past him, he looked pensive and was carrying a wand sized box.

Draco waited until they were well past him and then darted through the crowd towards the shabby façade of Ollivander's, wondering if his mother had also spoken to the boy with the green eyes. However, when he got inside, his mother was nowhere to be found. Draco stood nervously by the door, looking around the small, dimly lit shop. There were boxes everywhere, scattered across the counter and piled haphazardly on a somewhat crooked chair, as well as piled up in orderly columns along the walls. An old man, presumably Mr Ollivander, was busy putting them away, humming to himself as he did. It was an eerie little tune.

He turned around and peered at Draco. "Hmm..." he said. "Master Malfoy, I presume?"

"Yes," squeaked Draco, turning a little pink before he could pull himself back under control. "Is my mother..."

"Your mother is not here," said the man, before he could even finish the question. He drew out a tape measure and stepped towards Draco, who instinctively took a step away from him. "I don't believe I have ever met your mother," the man continued. "But your father, I recall. Chestnut, eleven inches, good for duelling."

He held up the tape measure and Draco bounced away again. "I'm supposed to meet my mother," he said firmly.

"Nonsense," said the man. "You are here to get a wand and I don't have all day. Hold out your arm."

With a last hopeful look toward the door, Draco once again submitted to a measuring tape. It seemed like the only thing the wizarding world cared about today was the length of his limbs and the circumference of his head. He held out his left-arm.

"Left-handed?" asked Mr Ollivander.

Draco nodded and the man proceeded to measure him in the most unexpected places. Before long he was rummaging through the boxes and presenting Draco with wands to try. He heard the door behind him open and looked around to see his mother, at last.

"Draco, darling," she cooed. "I got a little caught up, je suis désolé. How are we doing here?"

"I'm all right," said Draco. "But none of these wands seem to be any good."

Mr Ollivander harrumphed.

"Don't fret, darling, finding a wand always takes a little while."

"Beechwood and dragon heartstring," Mr Ollivander said, thrusting another wand into Draco's hand. "Eight inches."

Draco gave the wand a wave, but nothing happened, and so they continued.

Finally Draco felt something as Mr Ollivander pressed yet another wand on him. There was a tingle and as he waved the wand, which seemed to move with his arm, there was a burst of green light like sunshine through leaves.

"Ah," said Mr Ollivander. "Fig, most unusual, and unicorn hair. Ten inches. A very temperamental wood, very sensitive."

Draco looked at the wand in wonder, it felt warm in his hand and when Mr Ollivander reached out to take it and wrap it he found he didn't want to let it go yet.

His mother paid and they went back out into the street to find his father, Draco clutching the small box to his chest.

\----------------

Draco's birthday was usually one of his favourite days of the year along with Yule and Samhain. However, this year, it was over shadowed by the coming start of the school year, which was now only days away.

He sat on a bench in the garden overlooking the Manor with his new eagle owl, Mabon, perched beside him. He had managed to stay in good cheer for most of the day, despite the disappointing lack of any Nimbus 2000 shaped packages, but now a gloom was falling over him as twilight fell over the surrounding countryside. Crabbe and Goyle were spending the night, but he had given them the slip, tired of listening to their excited but repetitive chatter about Hogwarts. They didn't seem worried about going at all, they were looking forward to it. Well, what did they have to be worried about? Nobody expected them to do anything but not get expelled and they were big and strong enough that no one would be likely to give them any trouble. They never seemed to be afraid of anything.

Draco turned to his new owl and ran his finger softly over his head, Mabon hooted softly. He was actually quite pleased with his father's gift. There weren't many animals he liked, but he did like birds and now he would be able to send letters home as often as he wanted. His mother had already promised to write at least once a week and to send him sweets since he'd have no way to buy any at school. Draco had a very sweet tooth.

He saw Crabbe and Goyle run out of the house and spot him and immediately pulled his face into a less miserable expression. It was one thing to feel bad but it was quite another to show that weakness to other people, the only person he had confessed his nerves to was his mother and he intended to keep it that way.

\-----------

When his final night at home came Draco found he couldn't sleep at all. He didn't want to wake up in the morning and have it be time to leave. Instead he lay awake, cradling his wand in one hand. He had taken to carrying his wand with him everywhere he went, there was something comforting about it, even though he had managed to perform only a couple of simple spells so far.

Right now it wasn't helping much. He felt cold despite his covers and empty despite his dinner and he almost thought he might cry. He could feel the tears trying to form and for a moment he entertained the thought of letting them, of breaking down and weeping into his pillow like a baby, but no. Malfoy's did not cry. He bit the inside of his mouth and squeezed his wand so hard he worried it might snap.

He could remember the last time he had cried, it had been out of pain not sorrow at least, though his father had still been furious. He had been at the stables with his father and the big stallion his father favoured had kicked him and he had been unable to stop the tears from coming to his eyes. He hated horses, they were so... big, and they never did what he told them, as if they could tell he was afraid of them no matter how hard he tried to hide it. One more thing for his father to be disappointed about, Draco was afraid of most animals, though he tried to hide it. Anything that looked vaguely like it might bite, kick or sting him immediately inspired him to stay the hell out of its way. His father felt it was a gentleman's place to appreciate such things as dogs (though never in the house), horses and dragons.

He did fall asleep eventually as he had to be woken up in the morning. He stumbled out of bed feeling completely exhausted and all of his attention was focused on eating and getting dressed without yawning or falling asleep in his porridge. Then, suddenly, it seemed everything was done and he was being pushed out of the door towards the waiting car.

"Wait," he said frantically. "I haven't... I mean..." He hadn't said goodbye yet, to his room and his view and his things and his home.

"What is it, Draco?" his father said impatiently. "It's a long drive to London, we must be going or you will miss the train."

He wanted to miss the train, but he didn't say that, he just got into the car. His father was always irritable when they had to use the car to go anywhere. Even though it was a top of the line, highly luxurious Panther 660, his father still felt at heart that cars were Muggle inventions and thus inappropriate transport for a pureblood wizard of his standing.

Draco snuck a last look around before his father closed the door and on the seat opposite him his owl, Mabon, hooted in what he thought might be understanding. He stared fixedly out of the window as the car pulled away, not really seeing anything as he worked on keeping his expression still and unfeeling under his father's watchful eye.

As they drove his father lectured him lazily, though he knew that despite that tone his father expected him to take note of every word. "Hogwarts will be a true test of your mettle, Draco. There are always choices to be made and your mother and I will no longer be there to ensure you make the right ones. No matter what house you are sorted into," and here his father gave him a cold glare that said it had better be Slytherin, "you will find yourself faced with a host of potential new friends, only some of whom will be worth your time. Always be sure to find out someone's family background before letting them into your confidence, I won't have you consorting with mudbloods. If you are unsure, do write your mother or I as we know far more about these things than you. Remember that just because someone is a pureblood wizard does not mean their priorities are the same as ours, just look at people like Dumbledore and that infernal Weasley family. Muggle lovers through and through..."

Draco's father talked about the Weasleys a lot, it seemed Mr Weasley had it in for his father and was always trying to cause trouble for him at the Ministry. Draco presumed this was because Mr Weasley was jealous of the Malfoy's wealth as the Weasleys were very poor, mostly due to their habit of having very large families, seven children in total! One of these children was supposed to be in Draco's year at Hogwarts, he had already been fore-warned to stay well away from him. The Malfoys didn't approve of large families, it was common and led to in-fighting over who would inherit; the Weasleys didn't have anything to inherit so he supposed they didn't have to worry about that. Mr Weasley was also very fond of Muggles and was always coming down on the side of the mudbloods despite the fact his family was of pure blood.

"Are you listening, Draco?" his father broke into his train of thought.

"Yes, father," he said obediently. "I'll be very careful who I make friends with."

"Parkinson and Nott both have children starting at Hogwarts this year," his father continued. "Good, respectable wizarding families who see things the way we do. I'm sure you will get on well with them."

Draco had met Pansy Parkinson before, although his father had clearly forgotten, and he wasn't so sure. She was a shrill, excitable, bossy girl. They had met at her tenth birthday party last year, her parents seemed to have invited every child in the English wizarding community. She had exclaimed that he was 'absolutely adorable,' which he didn't take from anyone but his mother. He knew he had been, and unfortunately still was, small for his age and he had only been nine at the time. Then she had tried to kiss him and he had hidden behind Goyle whom she had kicked in the shin when he wouldn't move aside.

"... I expect you to do better than your peers, Draco," his father droned. "You have a standard to uphold. Malfoys have always done effortlessly well at school. I do not want to hear you are locked away in your room studying all the time, Malfoys are leaders, not hide-bound intellectuals. A Malfoy sets the level that everyone else must strive for..."

Draco tuned him out. This was perfect, he was supposed to get top marks without actually studying. Next his father would expect him to fly without a broom. But Draco did have a plan, he had decided that the best way to get through school without disappointing his father was to be as like his father as he could. Any time he got things wrong it always seemed to be because he had strayed from his father's example. He had distilled his father down into a set of simple rules, a rough guide to being a Malfoy. These were; a Malfoy does not display weakness or emotion, a Malfoy is always in charge of any situation, a Malfoy does not suffer fools, a Malfoy does not allow an insult to pass unchallenged and, most of all, a Malfoy is better than everyone else.

He did plan to study, he wasn't so foolish as to imagine he could be top of his class without doing so, if he could be top of his class at all. However, he would take care not to let his father, or anyone else, know how much work he was doing.

As long as he had Crabbe and Goyle to back him up and kept control of himself, he would be fine.

Unfortunately it wasn't long before his precarious control was slipping again. As the car pulled up in front of King's Cross Station he felt his stomach butterflying. The place was full of Muggles, he had never seen so many at once. His mother took his hand as they began walking into the station and he held it tightly, staring at the odd shops and clothes around him, afraid that someone would realise that they didn't belong there.

"Really, Narcissa," his father commented. "He is not a little boy any more. You will ruin his standing with the other boys if you make a scene."

His mother shot his father an annoyed look, but Draco pulled his hand out of her grasp. He didn't want the other boys to think he was a mother's-boy. Looking around for any sign of Crabbe and Goyle, he didn't notice his mother's hurt expression.

"Follow me," his father said curtly, and led them through the crowds until they were walking straight towards a solid metal barrier between two platforms. Draco squeezed his eyes shut just before they hit it and didn't open them again until he was sure they had passed right through.

Platform 9 and 3/4 was busy too, but with wizards and witches and their noisy children, animals and scattered luggage. Draco didn't realise he was gaping and pressing himself closer to his mother's side until his father shot him a cold look. He quickly pulled himself upright and rearranged his features. Before he could even begin looking for them again, Crabbe and Goyle materialised through the crowd.

"Draco!" said Crabbe breathlessly. "We've been waiting for you, isn't this great?"

"Mum and Dad dropped us off ages ago," said Goyle.

Draco's father cleared his throat dangerously.

"Oh!" said Crabbe, then straightened himself, elbowed Goyle in the side, and recited, "Hullo, Mr Malfoy, Mrs Malfoy. I hope you are well."

"Vincent," said his father tightly. "Gregory. And how are your parents?"

Goyle gurned in a rather terrifying manner, causing Draco's father to raise one eyebrow. Draco really wished he could figure out how to do that, his father could speak volumes with one twitch of his forehead.

"They're fine," said Crabbe quickly, shifting nervously from foot to foot, neither boy enjoyed talking to Draco's father.

"Well," said Draco's mother. "Why don't we get you boys onto the train?"

"Our stuff's already on the train," said Goyle. "C'mon. We've got money for sweets, too!"

Draco followed his friends down the train, his parents walking behind him, to a compartment scattered liberally with Crabbe and Goyle's possessions. Also inside was a boy, perched on the edge of a seat, who had obviously not been there when Crabbe and Goyle had left to find Draco. The boy was tall and lanky with dark skin, he wore Muggle clothing and was clutching a small canvas bag that said 'West Ham' on it. He looked nervous but excited.

"Hi," he said. "Are you first years too?"

Draco glanced back to see his father had stepped well away from the compartment and was gesturing him on with a stern expression. He set his shoulders back and gave the boy his best, long practised, look of cold Malfoy disdain. "This compartment is already taken," he said. "You'll need to find somewhere else."

The boy's face fell as he looked from the three of them, Crabbe and Goyle had instinctively stepped up on either side of Draco, to the six empty seats in the compartment. "But..."

Draco narrowed his eyes and Crabbe cracked his knuckles.

"Fine," said the boy, and left.

Draco saw his father give a faint smile and an approving nod and felt his spirits lift. He smiled confidently and said to his parents, "Bye, then. I'll see you in a few months." Then directly to his mother, "Don't worry about me, I'll be just fine." He swallowed the lump in his throat and the desire to give her a goodbye hug.

Before she could insist upon one, his father stepped forward and held out his hand. Draco shook it firmly and though his insides seemed to fall out of him, his external appearance stood firm.

This was it, he realised... far more than his 11th birthday, this was the day he stopped being a child. He was out on his own now and he had to be a man, more than that, he had to be, to all outward appearances at least, a Malfoy.

 

 


	2. Becoming a Slytherin

The World According to Draco Malfoy

by Marysia (Nov 2002)

Rating: G

Summary: The first 4 books told from Draco's point of view. Prequel to The Marks We Bear.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

 

**Chapter 2 - Becoming a Slytherin**

"Do you really think we'll get into Slytherin, Draco?" Goyle asked, once they had closed the door and sat down.

"Don't call me that!" Draco snapped, feeling irritable. "It's inappropriate."

"Sorry. It's just my Mum was in Hufflepuff, what if I end up in Hufflepuff?"

"We'll all be in Slytherin," Draco answered firmly.

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"Okay then." Goyle seemed satisfied with that. "Did your Dad give you money for food?"

Crabbe and Goyle ate incessantly, which was hardly surprising, since they seemed to be growing at a rate of about an inch a month these days, they both towered over Draco.

"Of course he did, but don't think I'm going to let you two eat it all, I know you've got money of your own."

"But you always get more money," Crabbe complained.

"I want to keep some of it, not just waste it all on food."

Draco stared out of the window, wondering where exactly the unplottable Hogwarts was. The fast-passing view had him in a semi-trance when there was a knock on their compartment door. He looked around in annoyance at being brought back to reality; a plump, gormless looking boy stood in the doorway, at least this one was wearing robes rather than Muggle clothing. "What do you want?" Draco snapped.

"Er..." said the boy, looking terrified. "Have you seen a toad?"

Draco looked at him in disgust at his pathetic show of fear. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Neville," the boy croaked.

"Not your first name, you idiot!"

"Longbottom!" the boy squawked, going very pink.

"Well, Longbottom," Draco said the name as if it were the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. "There are no toads in here, and if I come across one I plan to have Crabbe and Goyle here sit on it and then throw it out the window."

Longbottom gasped in horror as Crabbe and Goyle chortled.

"Now go away!"

The boy fled and Draco turned back to the window. He wondered if he should have been nicer, what if Longbottom was someone his father would want him to be friends with? He really wasn't in the mood to be nice, though, and his father was rarely nice to anyone, even people who were supposed to be his friends, so it was probably fine. It had been fun to see Longbottom scurry off as if Draco were someone to be reckoned with, someone like his father. It was good to know he really could do that, even if he didn't feel all that powerful or intimidating, though he wondered what it would have been like to have invited Longbottom in to sit with them and asked him about himself. Draco scowled, he had suddenly remembered the boy with the green eyes from Madame Malkin's, he must be on this train somewhere. Better to have successfully scared someone off than to have tried to be friendly and been ignored!

Something knocked against Draco's leg and he frowned down at Goyle who was crawling around the floor. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for the toad," grunted Goyle from half-way under the seat. "I never sat on a toad before."

"Gross," said Crabbe.

"There's no toad in here," Draco snapped. "Get off the floor."

Goyle sat up. "Can I go look for it then?"

As long as he could remember, Crabbe and Goyle had always done what he told them, it was just the way their friendship worked. Goyle in particular, who really was stupid unlike Crabbe who simply wasn't as clever as Draco, was inclined to check with Draco before doing anything, just to make sure Draco approved.

"If you want," said Draco.

"I'll come too," said Crabbe, and they both lumbered off to try and find the toad before Longbottom did. Draco shook his head, what kind of stupid pet was a slimy toad anyway?

When Crabbe and Goyle came back, sometime later, they were followed by two boys Draco didn't know and Pansy Parkinson.

"No toad," said Goyle glumly as they re-entered.

"Hello, Draco," said Pansy coyly.

"Pansy," said Draco warily.

"This is Blaise and this is Ernie," she said, favouring the two boys with a smile.

Draco looked at them non-committally, they didn't look too bad. They were wearing new school robes and they didn't look nervous or untidy. "I'm Malfoy," he said. "I presume you have last names."

"Zabini," said Blaise, he was slim and dark-haired and looked Draco over with an intense gaze that left Draco feeling exposed somehow. His voice seemed to have a faint foreign accent to it, but it was hard to tell with only one word to go on.

"MacMillan," said Ernie, he was pudgy and non-descriptly pleasant looking, he stuck out his hand for Draco to shake. "My father goes hunting with your father."

Draco took the hand and shook it briefly, something about MacMillan irritated him but he wasn't sure what. Perhaps it was that his plump, affability seemed false, or maybe that his palms were slightly sweaty.

Pansy sat herself down next to him. "Have you heard?"

"Heard what?" he asked, shifting himself slightly away from her.

"The third year's are saying that Harry Potter's on the train!" she exclaimed. "He's going to be in our year!"

"Harry Potter?" Draco was momentarily incredulous, but then it made sense. Harry Potter was the same age as they were and obviously he would be going to Hogwarts rather than some other school.

Draco knew all about Harry Potter, everyone did, he was only one of the most famous wizards in the world. Ten years ago, when Draco had been only a baby, Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord and ended the brewing war between those who supported Mudbloods and those who wanted to keep the wizarding world safe from Muggle influence. The Muggle-lovers had won and Harry Potter had been hidden ever since, the Ministry knew where he was but nobody else did except that he was apparently living with Muggle relatives somewhere. Every now and then there would be rumours and stories that someone had passed him in the street or seen him in a shop, everyone knew he was alive and safe, but he was hidden to protect him from the Dark Lord's supporters.

Draco had heard the story of what Harry Potter had done from his father and had never quite been able to figure out how he was supposed to feel about The Boy Who Lived. On the one hand Draco's father seemed to have a great deal of admiration for the Dark Lord and certainly he didn't want mudbloods polluting the wizarding world, but he also said the war had been terrible and that the Dark Lord had needed to be stopped. Sometimes he said that Harry Potter was the saviour of the wizarding world, though always with an odd twitch of his upper lip and usually only when company was present or about to arrive, and other times he said that Harry Potter was a freak whose parents had been too stupid to save themselves.

Once he had overheard his mother and father fighting and he had clearly heard him shout that Harry Potter was the worst thing that had ever happened to them and that if Voldemort were still around things would be very different. That was one of the very few times Draco had ever heard his father use the Dark Lord's real name.

Draco was glad the Dark Lord wasn't around any more, it sounded like things had been pretty dangerous back then, people dying and stuff. He also thought that Harry Potter must be quite something if he could defeat the Dark Lord when he was only one year old, even if he hadn't done it on purpose. When he had been younger, he and Crabbe and Goyle had used to play Harry Potter and the Death-Eaters and Draco had always insisted that he play Harry Potter. It would be great to have Harry Potter as your friend, no one would mess with you then. No one would dare.

The trolley came clattering by and Crabbe and Goyle just about crushed Zabini and MacMillan, scrambling to get their money and get out to it.

Pansy made a face at them and stood up. "I think we'll be getting on, then," she said, having no desire to stay and watch Crabbe and Goyle pig out. She left and MacMillan and Zabini turned to follow her.

Zabini paused in the door. "Will you come along, Malfoy?" he asked. Now Draco was certain he could hear an accent, although he was unsure where it came from.

Draco thought about going along with them, he was curious to find out more about Zabini but he had no desire to become one of the boys tagging along after Pansy. "No, thanks," he said politely. "I'll catch up with you later."

Zabini nodded and left.

Draco waited until Crabbe and Goyle had spent all their money, then sauntered out to buy a few sweets himself. He ate them slowly, savouring the sweetness and trying to ignore the muffled grunts of Goyle trying to swallow a Chocolate Frog whole before it stopped jumping. As he ate he thought about Harry Potter.

He wondered if Potter remembered defeating the Dark Lord, wondered if the scar on his forehead would be faint or obvious, wondered if Potter would already know lots of spells. Probably he would, if he was as powerful as all that. He really did want to go down the train and look for him but he was unsure if that would be inappropriate. He wanted Potter to like him, for them to be friends. So he had to make sure he had exactly the right thing to say to him... should he pretend he didn't know who he was? Maybe he should just introduce himself, Potter must have heard of the Malfoys. He tried to dredge up every piece of information he had ever heard about Harry Potter, but there really wasn't that much. The Dark Lord had wanted to kill him for some reason, he had killed his parents when they tried to protect him and then when he had tried to kill Harry Potter the spell had rebounded and destroyed him. One year old Harry Potter, only a little over a month older than Draco had been, had survived with only a lightening bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

Finally, finished with his sweets, Draco gave up trying to figure out what to say and decided just to go and see if it was really true. "Come on, boys," he said to Crabbe and Goyle. "Clean yourself up and let's go find Harry Potter before Parkinson adds him to her collection."

As they made their way down the train it became more and more apparent that it was true, everyone was talking about it, and by the time they reached their destination they even knew just which compartment to open. Draco paused outside the door, trying to calm his nervous excitement. He could hear voices inside, it sounded like they were talking about Quidditch. Confident, he told himself, and for Merlins sake, don't let him see how nervous you are. He slid open the door and stared into the room. It was the green eyed boy from Madame Malkin's in his over-sized clothes and cheap glasses.

Draco stepped forward into the compartment, feeling Crabbe and Goyle pressing in at his back to get a look. This was the world famous Harry Potter? This short, impolite boy who dressed like a homeless Muggle and couldn't even be bothered to comb his hair once in a while?

"Is it true?" Draco said in disbelief. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment." Pulling himself together a bit he realised he could see the infamous scar, half-hidden under the rumpled, dark hair. As the boy fixed him with his brilliantly green eyes Draco remembered why he had wanted to make friends with him when they had first met, something about him grabbed something inside Draco that he didn't really understand. Maybe it was power he thought, Potter must be very powerful. "So it's you, is it?" he asked, even though he knew it was.

True to form, Potter answered with only one word. "Yes."

Draco entertained the thought that maybe Potter's mind had been damaged along with his forehead, but there was nothing dull about the expression in those eyes. "Oh," he said, Potter's eyes left his and he realised he was staring at Crabbe and Goyle. "This is Crabbe and this is Goyle," he said, "and my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

He looked for any recognition of his name from Potter and instead heard a poorly disguised snort of laughter from the other boy in the compartment. Draco looked around and was confronted with a tall, skinny boy with vivid red hair and freckles, he knew immediately who this had to be, the laughter at his name only confirmed it. "Think my name's funny do you?" he spat, outraged that a Weasley was here ruining his attempt to talk to Harry Potter. "No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford." He turned back to Potter, ignoring the look on Weasley's face. Obviously Potter didn't know much about the wizarding world, having been forced to live with Muggles for his own protection, Draco could help him there. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter," he said helpfully. "You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." He held his hand out for Potter to shake only to have it hang there.

Potter fixed him with those cold eyes again and said, "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."

Draco felt humiliation burn through him and tinge his cheeks pink as he realised Potter wasn't going to take his hand, he felt like an idiot standing there with it stuck out, and then anger hit him as he realised Potter was implying that he was the wrong sort. That a Weasley was the right sort and he, a Malfoy, was the wrong sort! The anger burned away the sting of rejection and he pulled back his hand, he wanted to hurt someone. "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly, trying to hiding his anger and embarrassment by keeping his voice calm. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it'll rub off on you." It obviously already had, he thought.

Potter stood up and so did Weasley, whose face was now almost the same colour as his hair. "Say that again," said Potter.

Confident of Crabbe and Goyle at his sides, Draco sneered, "Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?"

"Unless you get out now," said Potter in a challenging tone.

The way his eyes flashed made Draco nervous and if he'd been alone he might well have backed down, but he wasn't alone. He glanced at Crabbe, "But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys?" He saw Crabbe eyeing a pile of sweets on the chair nearby. "We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

He saw Goyle make a move for the sweets and stepped out of his way, it was never a good idea to come between Goyle and chocolate, however before Goyle reached the food all hell broke loose. The Weasley started to move forward but before he could Goyle straightened up and let out the most piercing yell. Draco almost leapt out of his skin, something was dangling from Goyle's hand and he was spinning around trying to shake it off, some sort of animal. Draco glanced around in a panic, expecting more of whatever it was to leap out at them. Goyle shook the animal loose and they all turned and ran from the compartment, almost bowling over a girl as they went down the corridor. They stopped to regroup once they reached the next carriage.

"Are you all right? What was that?" Draco asked Goyle.

In answer Goyle held out his hand, there was blood running down it. "It hurts!" he complained.

"Lemme see," said Crabbe as Draco turned very pale and steadied himself against the wall. He had always hated the sight of blood, it made him feel sick and his own hand throbbed in sympathetic pain.

"Was an animal," said Goyle, as Crabbe probed his hand unhelpfully. "Ow!" Goyle wrenched his hand back and stuck it in his robes.

"Should we go back?" asked Crabbe. They both looked to Draco for guidance as to what to do next.

"The train will probably be there soon, we'll deal with Potter another time," he practically spat the name. Upstart little brat, thought he could talk down to a Malfoy just because he was The Boy Who Lived, thought he knew everything. His father was right, Potter was just a lucky freak of nature with a stupid scar on his head. He'd soon find out life wasn't that easy.

He led Crabbe and Goyle back up the train, seething silently, his face as black as the night outside. If he hadn't been so caught up in his inner rant he would have been pleased to see people stepping out of their way with nervous looks on their faces.

Back in their compartment he swallowed his queasiness and bandaged up Goyle's hand with a handkerchief. Whatever it was that had bit him it had very long teeth, the wound was still bleeding and looked to be quite deep.

"You should go to one of the teachers when we get there," Draco said.

Goyle shrugged and thrust his hand into his pocket.

\---------------

As they got off the train Draco's nerves returned, fed by the darkness of the platform and the bustling faceless mass of students. He heard someone shouting for first years and moved towards the voice only to discover it was that monster of a gamekeeper. He bit his lip and tried not to wish too hard that there was someone whose hand he could hold. He missed his mother already. He hung back with Crabbe and Goyle either side of him, wanting to know where exactly they were going before he got there. The path they were travelling was perilously steep and he was afraid the drunken monster had taken them the wrong way. He let Crabbe and Goyle go before him now as they were stumbling dangerously on the slippery path and he didn't want them to knock him over, he had no problem keeping his feet. Then they turned a corner and could suddenly see Hogwarts.

Draco paused and stared across a vast lake the colour of ink to a sprawling castle built on rocky outcrops on the other side. The lights in the many windows twinkled like the stars in the sky around them, making it hard to tell where the castle ended and the sky began. He could make out high turrets and towers and forbidding walls, it looked more like a fortress than a school from here. Or a prison, a prison to keep them all in, away from their homes and their families.

They were being led towards a hoard of tiny boats, bobbing on the lake. They looked very small, indeed each could only seat four people and by the time he, Crabbe and Goyle had boarded one it seemed dangerously low in the water and no one else joined them in it.

Hagrid shouted, "Forward!" and the boats lurched out towards the castle, moving smoothly across the water once they had started. Draco tried to ignore the fact that as far as he knew, none of them could swim, he certainly couldn't. If the boat were to tip over... he dug his nails into his thighs and watched the castle swell in size, towering above them. They seemed to be heading for a cliff, but the boats ahead of them were swallowed by it rather than smashing up against it's rough stone. Draco ducked and felt ivy trail over his neck as their boat followed the others into an underground cavern and finally to a stony dock.

As they marched up the passageway and out onto grass Pansy Parkinson fell back to join them, still being followed by Blaise and Ernie and also accompanied by a girl, at least Draco thought it was a girl. She was nearly as large as Crabbe and had a jaw that could probably crack walnuts unaided.

"What do you want?" he asked Pansy grumpily.

"Now, now, Draco, dear," Pansy giggled. "Be nice."

Draco scowled at her, she was definitely the most annoying person he had ever met.

"Do you know how we're sorted?" she asked. "Into houses I mean? My parents wouldn't tell me, they said it would be a nice surprise."

"Of course I know," said Draco, feeling superior. "Why, worried they'll put you in Hufflepuff?"

Pansy pouted. "Do be a dear and tell us, Draco," she said, peering at him with cow eyes.

"And spoil the surprise? I wouldn't dare," he mocked her.

"Perhaps he does not know, after all," said Zabini.

"I do know!" Draco exclaimed in a loud voice only to find Zabini watching him with amusement. Zabini knew very well that he knew, he was trying to wind him up. Draco narrowed his eyes at the boy, this was exactly what he had to be careful of. Letting his emotions get a hold of him and speaking without thoroughly examining the situation. "I do know," he said more calmly. "And I'm not going to let you trick me into telling you, so don't bother trying. You'll find out soon enough."

Indeed they were at the castle doors now, which had opened up at Hagrid's knock. A tall, stern looking witch dressed in black and green led them on into the castle, up a marble staircase and finally into a small room. All the way there Pansy nagged Draco to tell her how they would be sorted and all the way there he ignored her, refusing to say anything at all.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said the witch, when they were all inside. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses..." she continued talking about how important their House would be and Draco tuned her out, he knew all this already. He examined the room and the children crowded around him, they were all dressed alike now but he found it was not hard to pick out differences. Some robes were clean and new and well fitted, others were second-hand or just badly made or already dirty. The same went for the people, some stood straight as he did, others slouched or slumped, some were clean and tidy and others looked as if they'd spent all day rolling in a field. Most of them were taller than him, which was irritating and made him stand straighter yet, none of them were taller than Goyle. He was definitely the best dressed, though Zabini was close.

The witch left and the room hung silent except for some frizzy haired girl muttering to herself. From the nervous shuffling around him, most of the room had no idea how the sorting was conducted or else they were nervous about which house they would be put into. So they should be, half the room looked like shoo-in's for Hufflepuff. Not that he wasn't a little worried himself, all right a lot worried, but he wasn't going to let it show.

Then his left shoulder was suddenly frozen in place and he yelped in surprise, a ghost was passing through him. Above them streamed a procession of ghosts, one of whom had trailed a foot through Draco's shoulder on the way past, as many as twenty or twenty-five of them. They didn't even glance down as they argued among themselves about someone called Peeves. Then they were noticed, but before the ghosts could say much, the witch had returned to lead them to the Sorting.

They formed into a line, Crabbe and Goyle behind him and Pansy Parkinson in front, and walked through to the Great Hall. The room was lit by the light of thousands of floating candles and the stars of the night sky, which the ceiling was enchanted to replicate. There were hundreds of faces watching them and Draco looked up at the ceiling instead of meeting their eyes, the sky was beautiful. His attention was brought back down to earth when someone started singing, he was only slightly surprised to see that it was the Sorting Hat. It was a rather inane song about the different houses, but when it was done everyone applauded.

The witch, whom Draco thought could at least have introduced herself, as he had no idea who she was, began reading out their names.

Some of the children that were called up were vaguely familiar to him, he had seen some of them at Pansy's party or at other events. The girl who had been trailing Pansy earlier turned out to be called Millicent Bulstrode and was the first person to be sorted into Slytherin. Crabbe and Goyle were both called out before him and sorted into Slytherin, although the hat took a while to decide with Goyle, who looked absolutely terrified that it might say Hufflepuff the whole time he sat there. It was the first time he had ever seen Goyle look scared. A girl called Morag MacDougal was before him and she was placed in Ravenclaw, then MacMillan got put in Hufflepuff, which made him smirk, then his name was called.

He slowed his breathing and endeavoured to look composed as he walked slowly up to the stool, as he sat down there was only one thought in his head, firm and demanding, 'Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin!' Before he even felt the hat touch his skin it screamed out, "Slytherin!"

Relief shot through him, and he went to join Crabbe and Goyle at the Slytherin table, trying not to grin too broadly. He had done it, he was a Slytherin.

He clapped Goyle on the shoulder before he sat down next to Crabbe. "See, I told you we'd all be in Slytherin."

Goyle grinned back at him and suddenly the table around them started applauding again, another Slytherin boy. Draco heard Pansy's name called and glanced up to see where she would be put, when the hat called out Slytherin within seconds of being sat on her head he made a face. He was never going to get rid of her now.

When she came over to the table she sat opposite him, in between Millicent Bulstrode and Tracey Davis. "Shame about poor Ernie," she said. "He'll never live down getting put into Hufflepuff. He was hoping for Gryffindor."

"I wouldn't accept either," Draco answered. "Slytherin's the only house worth bothering with."

"Of course," she replied, "Although I wouldn't mind being in Ravenclaw, I suppose. If I wasn't in Slytherin."

There was a sudden gasp around them and Draco realised Potter's name had been called. He narrowed his eyes as he saw everyone staring and whispering. "Look at them all," he said to Crabbe quietly, annoyed at the attention Potter was getting. "You'd think they'd never seen a midget in glasses before." But he, too, looked up to see what was happening. Potter sat on the stool, looking rather ridiculous with the huge hat hiding most of his face, for a long time. The tension seemed to mount around him and he was gripping the stool as if afraid he might fall off. Draco hoped he got put in Hufflepuff, that would put paid to all this hero nonsense.

"Gryffindor!" the hat yelled and the Gryffindor table erupted in applause and cheering. Two red headed twins, more Weasleys most likely, were shouting, "We got Potter!" as if he was some sort of prize.

The last three were quickly sorted, the Weasley who had laughed at his name went in Gryffindor with Potter and Draco swiftly began to re-evaluate his opinion that Hufflepuff was the worst house, clearly Gryffindor was the current clearing house for misfits and paupers. Last of all, Blaise Zabini was put into Slytherin, and he prowled over and sat down beside Theodore Nott.

"Well," he said with a strange half smile. "Here we all are."

Draco was about to make a comment when he felt the chill of death brush against him again. He looked to his left and saw the most frightening apparition he had ever set eyes on. The ghost next to him spread an aura of cold without even needing to touch him and it's robes were covered in silvery blood despite the fact there were no visible wounds on him. But it was not the blood that made you shiver, it was the face, the ghost's face was empty somehow, bleak like the fields in late autumn.

"Welcome," the ghost breathed in a voice like the wind echoing through stone, surveying them.

The headmaster began speaking but Draco couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the apparition seated next to him, afraid that if he looked away it might advance closer and somehow swallow him up. It wasn't until the headmaster said, "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" that he turned around in startlement. Around him the hall applauded the headmaster's 'speech'.

"You are Malfoy," the ghost beside him stated and he turned back to face it.

"Y-yes," he stammered, unable to master his voice. This was too much, he wanted to go home; he was exhausted, Potter hated him, Pansy was stalking him, the headmaster was insane and there was a ghost sitting next to him that seemed to want to chat. He didn't care any more that he'd made it into Slytherin. He pushed away from the ghost until he was virtually embedded in Crabbe's side, not that Crabbe had noticed as the meal had now appeared and he could hear the sound of him guzzling it.

"I remember your father," said the ghost.

"Oh," said Draco faintly.

"You should eat now," said the ghost and turned away from him.

Draco watched it carefully out of the corner of his eye as he nibbled at his dinner, wishing the meal could just be over so that he could leave. He made some half-hearted conversation with Zabini and Nott but he couldn't really concentrate and Pansy was keeping most of the attention on herself anyway. Draco concentrated on trying to look like he was bored and not particularly hungry. The ghost next to him did not speak to him again.

After what felt like a chilly eternity the last of the food vanished from the plates, at which he heard Goyle grunt in disappointment, and the headmaster got to his feet again. He issued a list of warnings, it seemed like you could barely step foot anywhere without risking immediate death and then announced they would sing the school song.

Draco perked up a little at that, no one had mentioned there was a school song and he was curious to hear it. He liked music, although he had little talent for singing. He liked to listen and he played the piano a bit, his mother had insisted he learn some sort of instrument.

Dumbledore flicked his wand and made the words appear above the hall for everyone to see. Draco peered at them with a look of disbelief, this wasn't at all what he had expected, and suddenly the most dreadful cacophony echoed through the room as everyone began to bellow out the words to random tunes. Down the bench he could hear Goyle singing the tune to Three Blind Mice and regularly slipping into the wrong words so the song went, "Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy, Warty Mice." Beside him Crabbe, who was completely tone deaf, was singing in a dull monotone. Over the table, with a look of intense concentration and a piercingly shrill soprano, Pansy Parkinson was attempting to sing to the tune of O Fortuna from Carmina Burana. He glanced over at Zabini and saw that he wasn't singing either, for a long moment they looked at each other in shared arch bemusement and then Zabini looked away and calmly began to sing, "So teach us things worth knowing..." in perfect tune, to the melody of Frere Jacques. Draco frowned at him, Zabini was kind of annoying too.

The last to finish were the loud, red-headed twins at the Gryffindor table, who were singing some sort of dirge. When it was finally over there was a smattering of applause and the headmaster was wiping away tears. He must be senile, thought Draco. We're all doomed.

 


	3. First Class

The World According to Draco Malfoy

by Marysia (Dec 2002)

Rating: G

Summary: The first 4 books told from Draco's point of view. Prequel to The Marks We Bear.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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**Chapter 3 - First Class**

 

Draco went straight to bed as soon as they got to their dormitory, he didn’t want to spend any more time with his new house-mates. but was woken up by the other four boys he was sharing his room with when they came up from the common room to go to bed themselves.

Zabini was quiet enough but Crabbe and Goyle were blundering around, laughing and joking. Draco lay quietly, the curtains closed around him but the small lamp on his headboard lit, and listened to them. He realised that there was nowhere to go where he could be alone anymore, his room didn't belong to him. The common room would be even worse. He looked around the small square of space that he had to call his own, dark green drapes enclosed his bed and swallowed much of the light his small lamp cast. The sheets under him smelled strange and were scratchy compared to the ones he had at home, the blankets over him didn't feel right. The room outside was long and narrow and the beds were lined up along one wall with trunks at their foot and a small bedside table to their left, facing five identical wardrobes on the other side. His bed was the furthest from the door, there were no windows as they were in the dungeons, but there was a fireplace half way down the room. Why would anyone put a bedroom in a dungeon? He suspected the older years had rooms above ground level though, as the staircase continued up to their dormitories and he was fairly sure, though he had got a little turned around on the way down here, that the common room was only two levels down from the ground. The walls were pale green and the carpet dark green and it felt like an old hospital ward.

Now that he was awake he couldn't get back to sleep, it might have been his imagination but his bed felt and smelled damp and musty. He turned over and wrinkled his nose as plumping his head back down on the pillow sent another waft of unfamiliar smell up. Eventually, after Goyle and Crabbe had stopped talking, he gave up and decided to write a letter home. He peered out through the curtains and found the room dark, opening his curtains enough to see he got a quill, ink and parchment out of his trunk and retreated back to bed.

'Dear Mother,' he wrote, then stopped, crumpled up the parchment, and started again.

'Dear Father and Mother,

I am writing to let you know I have been sorted into Slytherin, as have Crabbe and Goyle. My other housemates are Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode, Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis.'

He paused and thought about what else he could tell them, there was one obvious topic of conversation...

'Harry Potter is starting at Hogwarts this year too and he is hanging around with one of those Weasleys, they were put in Gryffindor although I don't know why, he didn't look very brave to me. Everyone was so excited about him coming to Hogwarts but I don't see what all the fuss is about, he is rude and scruffy and wears broken glasses. I introduced myself to him but he clearly thinks he is better than everyone else because he is famous.'

He read over that and then continued...

'I think the headmaster may be senile, which would explain why he lets the gamekeeper look after first year students. We almost broke our necks climbing down what was practically a cliff and then had to travel over a lake to the school in some tiny boats which didn't look safe at all. If one of us had fallen in I'm sure we would have drowned as I very much doubt that monster could swim, he's so big he'd probably sink straight to the bottom if he jumped in.

My dormitory is in a dungeon and it is very cold and damp down here, the bed is lumpy too and Goyle just started snoring. I don't know how I will get to sleep.

I met a ghost at dinner who seemed to know father but he didn't tell me his name. He was covered in blood.'

He stopped, having run out of things to say, and wondered how to finish the letter. Should he say he missed them? Probably not, his father wouldn't like that. What would his father approve of...

'Your son, Draco' he finished.

He rolled the parchment up and sealed it with one of the few spells he had learned so far. His father had taught it to him specifically for sending letters home and it meant that only the person, or people in this case, that the letter was written to could break the seal. His father said it was only fitting that he should teach him his first real spell. He wasn't that great at casting it but he could seal it with the Malfoy seal every time now, he just was never sure whether the charm would hold any better than a normal wax seal. His mother had taught him a spell too, it was a spell to make light come out the end of his wand and he had asked her specifically to teach it to him in case there was no night light in his room.

He would have to wait till tomorrow to send the letter as his owl, Mabon, was up in the Owlery and he wasn't even sure how to get there never mind the fact that he didn't want to go wandering around the school in the middle the night. He put the letter and his quill and ink back in his trunk and lay down again to try and get to sleep. This time he was successful.

\---------------

Draco took his letter up to the Owlery as soon as he was dressed, but unfortunately he had misjudged how long it would take him to do so and by the time he got back down to the Great Hall breakfast was nearly over. The castle was a maze of moving staircases and trick doors and while his home was inclined to be like that too, he knew the Manor inside out and never had trouble finding his way. Hogwarts was several times the size of the Manor and he didn't even have a map, the best you could do was ask the portraits where to go and a lot of the time they didn't really know.

Crabbe handed him his timetable and he looked it over as he tried to eat his porridge quickly without looking like he was rushing. There was a magical map on the back that showed the location of the next class, in this case his very first class, which was Herbology. Every day was filled with the exception of Thursday afternoon. As a rule he seemed to have two classes before lunch and one after, except for Friday when he had two before, double Potions, and two after. He was looking forward to Potions, and to Charms and Transfiguration and Astronomy for that matter, but he had no real interest in Herbology, which sounded a bit too hands-on, or History of Magic, which sounded really boring and was apparently taught by a ghost, or Defence Against the Dark Arts, which sounded a bit too dangerous. He knew his father wanted him to learn about the Dark Arts, but he'd really rather not. He supposed some of it would be okay, knowing how to curse people and stuff, but everyone else would be learning it too and they'd be able to curse him right back then. The class also covered Dark Creatures, he had read over many of his course books already, and he didn't want to learn about them, he had skipped right over the chapters on most of them despite the fact he knew he'd have to read them eventually. He had enough trouble sleeping without reading about werewolves before he went to bed.

Sure enough, Herbology involved getting dirty, and Draco stopped off in the bathroom to wash himself up before he went on to Defence Against the Dark Arts, and was rather late as a result.

He was pleasantly surprised by Defence Against the Dark Arts, there was actually very little discussion of anything especially frightening. They were with Ravenclaw again, it seemed most of their classes would be with them, which was fine with Draco, he didn't want to be held back by Hufflepuffs and he certainly didn't want to have to put up with the teachers fawning all over Potter, and Weasley making snide comments about his family.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom smelled very strongly of garlic and the teacher was a twitchy little man who wore a ludicrously large purple turban. He jumped nearly a foot in the air when Draco pushed open the door.

"My!" he said. "Thought everyone was here already. S-sit down, then."

He introduced himself as Professor Quirrel and went on to tell them a story about defeating a zombie in Africa, though thankfully he didn't go into details, and said his turban was a gift from the thankful natives. Everything he said took twice as long as it needed to because of his stutter and because he kept getting side tracked and forgetting where he had got to. As far as Draco was concerned he was further proof that the headmaster was senile, to have hired someone who was so clearly incompetent to teach his own subject. How could you be the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher if you nearly had heart failure because Crabbe snuck up behind you and shouted, "I vant to suck your blood!"

Draco, who had put him up to it, and Goyle nearly died laughing, and even the Ravenclaws grinned a bit although most of them were too busy reading their textbooks to appreciate the joke. They were mostly ignoring Professor Quirrel since he wasn't really saying anything important.

Draco was flicking through his Charms book. So far he hadn't really had to do anything, his wand had stayed firmly in his pocket all morning, but after lunch it would be different and he was nervous as to how he would stand up against the others in his class. At least he didn't have Transfiguration until tomorrow, that sounded really hard.

By the time lunch came around he was starving, but he only put a small amount of food on his plate and ate it leisurely, his mother had trained it into him at an early age that a well bred young man did not stuff his face at every opportunity. When Crabbe and Goyle stayed over she refused to eat in the same room as them, she said it made her queasy. Certainly his mother was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen and had a perfect figure so she must know what she was talking about when it came to these things. Much as he found it useful to have Crabbe and Goyle's bulk around to stand up for him he wouldn't be seen dead carrying around that kind of weight. It simply wasn't appropriate for someone of his breeding and besides, it would slow him down on his broomstick.

Across the hall there was a near riot at the Gryffindor table, there was food being thrown and Draco could see Potter and Weasley grinning like idiots. Weasley had food on his face.

"Look at them," he said archly. "You'd think they would have grown out of playing with their food by now." Beside him Goyle quietly put down the fork full of peas he had been about to flick at Pansy Parkinson.

"Harry Potter is rather sweet though," said Pansy thoughtlessly, Daphne Greengrass giggled.

Draco glared at them with all the deadly force he could muster and Pansy actually blanched.

"I mean... for a Gryffindor," she stammered.

Charms went fairly well, even though Draco got the impression that many of the teachers didn't like Slytherin very much. Certainly they always seemed to favour the Ravenclaw students, but then it turned out his Charms teacher was head of Ravenclaw House so he supposed that was to be expected. They didn't do any magic at all that afternoon, instead Professor Flitwick tested their knowledge and talked to them about focusing exercises and what the difference was between a charm and a hex.

In fact it wasn't until Transfiguration, next afternoon, that they used their wands for anything. It turned out that the witch who had led the Sorting Ceremony was also their Transfiguration teacher and the Assistant Headmistress; her name was Professor McGonagall. She was very strict, speaking to them sternly about messing around in the classroom, and favouring the Slytherins in the class with particularly threatening looks as she did so. She then turned her desk into a pig and back again. Draco was suitably impressed, but it didn't take long before that wore off as she then proceeded to talk for half an hour about techniques and more about focus and then when he thought he was never going to get to learn any magic they were each presented with a match and told to turn it into a needle. Draco stared down at his in surprise, he had no idea where to begin as he had stopped paying attention about fifteen minutes ago. He hadn't meant to, his attention had just drifted away from him. It was something that happened a lot, his father was always getting angry with him for not listening to what he was saying, although over the years he had become very good at bluffing his way through his fathers lectures.

He tried to remember what she had been saying and what he had read in his Transfiguration textbook last night, then pointed his wand and repeated the words everyone around him was muttering as they jabbed at their own matches.

The match stayed stubbornly wooden no matter how hard he tried. He focused, he waved, he visualised, and finally he dropped his wand on the desk and said, "This is never going to work!" rather more loudly than he had intended to.

"Is there a problem, Mr Malfoy?" said Professor McGonagall dryly.

Draco looked up and realised everyone was staring at him. He pasted a smirk on his face and said, "I think my match is faulty."

"Patience," said McGonagall, "Is a virtue you should work on, Mr Malfoy. As is perseverance."

"Why would I want to turn a match into a needle anyway?" he argued. "Couldn't you just use a spell to sew things together?"

"If you can't turn a match into a needle, I very much doubt you can cast a needlework spell either. Now stop disturbing the class."

Draco glared at her turned back, Transfiguration wasn't fun at all, it was boring and pointless, much like his match. Across the room Mandy Brocklehurst squealed, apparently her match had gone a bit silver. Draco tried not to pout. Maybe his wand was broken, Ollivander had said fig was a temperamental wood, maybe McGonagall's prune-like face was putting it off. Next to him Goyle had given up as well, he lit his match, leaned forward and set fire to Tracey Davis' sleeve with it. Draco swallowed a shocked laugh and pretended he hadn't noticed as the flame ran up her robes. Tracey suddenly screamed and leapt up out of her seat, her movement seemed to fan the flames and they licked up and caught her long hair. Professor McGonagall came running over and extinguished the flames with her wand. Tracey was crying and Draco pasted a concerned expression on his face. Big baby, McGonagall was looking at her arm and she wasn't hurt at all.

"Who did that?" McGonagall roared, rounding on the closest likely culprits.

"I didn't see, I was persevering with my match," Draco said, holding up his match innocently.

Goyle just gaped up at her, excuse-less and matchless.

"Where is your match, Mr Goyle?"

"It... uh... disappeared."

"5 points from Slytherin," McGonagall snapped. "If either of you two disrupt the class again you will both get detention." She turned away. "Do stop crying Miss Davis, you are not hurt."

"My hair!" Tracey wailed. "It's burnt!"

"Oh, for heavens sake! Class dismissed." As they put away their things and scrambled out the door Draco heard her muttering something about Slytherins always causing trouble.

The rest of the week went along much the same, they were given only a little magic to do and very few of them succeeded in actually doing it. He found he wasn't too bad at Charms, better than he was at Transfiguration anyway, not that that would be difficult.

Goyle was making a habit of getting bored and causing trouble and eventually on Thursday afternoon Draco decided enough was enough, he had lost Slytherin 20 points already and he could see the older Slytherins glancing at the three of them with disapproving looks. Even though it was only really Goyle that was losing them points, it was getting him into trouble as well.

"I've had enough of you messing about in class, Goyle," he told him imperiously.

"I thought you thought it was funny," complained Goyle.

"I did, but it's getting tedious. Cut it out."

That evening at Midnight they had Astronomy, and while he liked to look at the stars he felt it was very unfair to make them do Astronomy until the early hours of the morning when they had to get up next day. They should have Astronomy on Friday nights so they could sleep in the next day. He was already tired from having to get up much earlier than he was used to every morning, even his father hadn't insisted he was up before nine and here they were supposed to be washed, fed and in class by then. He'd slept right though History of Magic yesterday morning, as had half the class from what he could tell. History of Magic was even more boring than he had expected, he suspected Professor Binns had probably died from the boredom of his own subject. Dumbledore probably hadn't even noticed he was dead, his skeleton was probably still lying in a corridor somewhere. They had History with the Hufflepuffs, but having been asleep he hadn't really seen much of them. He had smirked at MacMillan on the way into the classroom though.

They had to be chased out of bed in the morning by one of the Prefects and if it hadn't been Potions this morning he might have considered just going back to bed after he had showered, but he was looking forward to Potions. His father said Professor Snape, the Head of Slytherin House, was a very good teacher and Draco had always been good at making Potions, it was the one thing he really had done before as it didn't require a wand and his parents were both quite skilled at it.

The Potions classroom was in the Dungeon levels, quite some walk from the Great Hall and their dormitory. It was also colder than even their Common Room as it didn't have a warm carpet on the floor or a large blazing fire, when he breathed out he could see his breath appear faintly in the air. It was a pretty creepy room, he didn't fancy having to be in here on his own. The walls were decorated with pickled animals in jars... or at least he hoped they were animals.

Professor Snape swept into the room and immediately began to take the register. "... Longbottom... Malfoy..."

"Present."

Snape glanced at him briefly and nodded. "... Nott... Parkinson... Patil... " he paused and looked up, "Ah, yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new - celebrity." He bit off the word celebrity with a look of distaste.

Draco glanced over at Potter and hid his grin behind his hand as Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. He'd heard Professor Snape didn't like Gryffindors much and he should have known that a decent teacher wouldn't fall for Potter's fame. Now Potter would see who was the right sort.

Snape finished the register and looked the class over, his expression reminded Draco of when his father was annoyed, cold and remote. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he said in a near whisper that nonetheless carried right to the back of the room, no one was stupid enough to make a noise, not even Goyle. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes," Draco hung on every word, Snape's voice was strangely hypnotic and it almost seemed as if he were reciting poetry. "The delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach,"

This was more like it, the power of life and death, all done at a safe distance. It didn't matter if you were six foot tall and knew every curse in the book, not if someone had slipped poison into your pumpkin juice. You were dead, and you'd never even know who had killed you.

"Potter!" Snape said suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Draco turned around to see if Potter would know the answer. He did, of course, he had read up on Sleeping Potions ages ago, he could even brew a simple one, although he had never done so entirely on his own. Potter looked completely stumped and was looking to the Weasley next to him for help. No luck there, Potter, Draco thought smugly, should have been nicer to someone who could have helped you out. Next to them a Gryffindor girl with frizzy brown hair was just about standing up she was reaching her arm so high in the air. Snape was ignoring her completely, as he should, he'd asked Potter not her, you didn't see Draco waving his hand around like an idiot just because he knew the answer.

"I don't know, sir," said Potter finally.

Snape was clearly unimpressed, "Tut, tut - fame clearly isn't everything."

Draco was struggling to hold in laughter at the look on Potter's face and the desperate look on that stupid girl who was still waving her arm around. He wondered if maybe she just really needed to go to the bathroom, she did look as if she were about to burst.

"Let's try again, Potter," Snape continued. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Draco didn't know this one, but all he cared about right now was the look of embarrassment mixed with anger on Potter's face, his father was right, Snape was brilliant.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry again, looking frustrated.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

Draco was sure he hadn't, probably thought he'd get an easy ride just for being Harry Potter, well at least there was one teacher that would make sure that wasn't the case.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkswood and wolfsbane?"

Draco knew that one too, Potter was pathetic, these were hardly difficult questions. The girl clearly agreed as she had now stood up and was bouncing up and down on her toes trying to get her fingers higher. Were all the Gryffindors this pathetic?

"I don't know," Potter said for a third time, looking more angry than embarrassed now. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

A few of the Gryffindors laughed at this but Snape wasn't amused. "Sit down," he snapped at the girl. He then proceeded to give the answers to the questions he had asked and took a point from Gryffindor for Potter's attitude.

They were paired off to make their first potion, Draco was thankfully put with Goyle, which meant he could keep an eye on him. He didn't want his friends disrupting the class and making Professor Snape think badly of him.

The potion they were set was simple and Draco told Goyle just to watch and let him make it. It was going very well, in fact Professor Snape was just praising the consistency of his stewed slugs when the class was disrupted by that idiot Longbottom. There was a loud hissing noise and a cloud of bright green smoke billowed towards them. Everyone scrambled to get away from the potion spilling across the floor as it appeared to be rather corrosive. Longbottom was moaning in pain, whatever he had done had left the blundering fool covered in boils. Snape quickly cleaned away the mess and sent Longbottom away to the hospital wing in disgrace. Then, to Draco's delight, he rounded on Potter and told him off for not keeping an eye on his classmate. He was absolutely right of course. Hadn't Draco made sure that the Slytherin's class idiot, Goyle, hadn't caused any trouble? If you were going to take the place of leader you couldn't just sit on your laurels, you had to actually do a bit of leading. It was clear that Potter was to be, unofficially at least, the person his fellow Gryffindors looked up to. He didn't deserve the job of course, but being famous meant you got recognition whether you deserved it or not.

Potter was clearly no leader, he had no poise, no style, and he didn't pay nearly enough attention to what went on around him. It seemed very unfair that Draco, who had all of these attributes, was having to constantly work to make his place as the leader of his house, when Potter, who was manifestly unsuitable for the job, was given it automatically.

By the time they had reached the last class of the day Draco was exhausted. Thankfully it was only History of Magic so he could get some much needed sleep. He had no idea how he was going to survive the coming months if he was this tired after only one week of classes.

As he slept with his head on his arms he dreamed that he was back in Potions, only instead of being taught by Snape they were being taught by his father. No matter how hard he tried to get things right he couldn't seem to stop dropping things, it was as if his fingers were asleep. As his father glared at him disapprovingly he could see Potter and Weasley laughing at him across the room. The noise of the class leaving woke him up.

The weekend seemed to drag on forever. Although he had been looking forward to the break all week he didn't enjoy it at all when it came. He still wasn't sleeping well in his new bed, it bothered him that so many other people had slept there before him, it just didn't seem sanitary and sometimes he could swear he smelled stale sweat and urine through the general damp and mustiness, never mind the possibility of bed bugs! Just lying on it made him itchy and he had a worrying rash on his side, just below his ribcage. He had gone to see the school nurse about it on Thursday afternoon and she had the nerve to say it was probably just the stress of being away from home, or possibly a mild allergy. More likely he was being attacked in his sleep by hordes of ravening bed bugs, he was sure the blood loss was making him anaemic. The communal bathrooms were awful too, he was sure to catch something. He ought to look up some sort of disinfecting spell. At least he had his own soap, wash cloth and towels, which he made absolutely sure nobody else got near. If only his mother had thought to pack him a set of bedclothes.

He had received a letter from his mother on Tuesday morning, but reading her words had nothing like the same comfort value as seeing her smile and hearing her voice and knowing she would always be there. Except he had been wrong, she wouldn't always be there. She wasn't here, and summer holidays aside he would spend the next seven years of his life here, the rest of his childhood. It felt like the rest of his life. He would be someone else when he left Hogwarts, an adult. He had never felt so alone as he did now in this castle full of people.

He spent Saturday afternoon writing a letter to his mother in the shade of a large oak tree while Crabbe and Goyle played a game nearby that seemed to involve getting hit with sticks a lot and then acting out grossly elongated death scenes. To the sound of Crabbe's dramatic moans Draco told his mother about his classes so far, going into elaborate detail when it came to Potions and Professor Snape's glorious derision of Potter. He also described his rash, even drawing a picture, and asked her to send new bedsheets and if possible the details of any spells he could use to banish bed bugs or sterilise the shower cubicles before he got in them.

He spent Sunday in a funk, hiding in his bed with the curtains closed, unable to bear the presence of his house mates any longer. It was raining outside and it was so damp in the dormitory he was sure he could feel the water sloshing around in his lungs. If he fell asleep he thought it was entirely possible he might drown. It seemed as though there were people everywhere, in the Common Room, in the Library, in the corridors and the Great Hall and the Owlery. It was intolerable, unbearable, he would surely go mad. You couldn't relax for one second, there was always someone watching. It was like one long, never-ending test and he seemed to be failing already. The only classes he was any good in were Potions and, to an extent anyway, Charms, and no matter where he went he couldn't seem to get away from Harry Potter. It wasn't that he saw him that often, they only had to put up with the Gryffindors in Potions and at mealtimes, but all anyone seemed to do was talk about him. Do you think he remembers what happened, do you think he'll play Quidditch, isn't he cute, do you think he has a girlfriend?

"Of course he doesn't have a girlfriend," Draco had snapped at a second year girl only that morning, before he had taken himself to the safety of his bed. "He's only eleven, and besides, why would anyone want to go out with that four-eyed freak? You want to be part of his collection of Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers do you?"

The girl had looked very surprised at being spoken to that way by a first-year, but before she could retort Pansy Parkinson said, "I certainly wouldn't date him, he has terrible taste and he's not even a real pureblood. His mother was a Mudblood!" Privately Draco thought that Potter would run screaming from Pansy if she ever did try to ask him out.

"Besides, he's a Gryffindor," put in one of the third year boys. "Can't have our lovely Slytherin girls deserting us for the enemy, giving away all our house secrets." He winked at Pansy as he said this and that was when Draco had stalked out in disgust.

Potter and sex, were these people all idiots? It was all the older boys seemed to talk about, their summer conquests and who they had their sights on next. Rubbish! Everyone talked such rubbish all the time. He wished he was in Ravenclaw, at least then he might get some interesting conversation. He was used to Crabbe and Goyle talkinq rubbish but he had expected better of everyone else. They were just all so irritating, if people were all like this no wonder his father was always in such a bad mood.

People were idiots!

 


	4. Ups and Downs

**Chapter 4 - Ups and Downs**

 

The next week at Hogwarts didn't get much better for Draco. Admittedly he was finding it easier than he had expected to impress his peers, although he suspected it had more to do with his family name than anything he actually said. Most of the time he fell back on cold disdainful looks and mocking sneers, which were working out pretty well. He had left Lisa Turpin in tears yesterday when she had knocked over his bag on the way to her seat. Girls were really easy to upset, all he had done was look at her and make a remark to Crabbe, quite loudly, that perhaps the school should institute a new house for the terminally incompetent as clearly the current system was flawed with an aside that if she wasn't so fat she might be able to fit between the desks without causing mass destruction.

He was pleased to see that, despite a few early dissenters, the rest of his house were quite happy to go along with his opinion of Potter on the grounds that he was a Gryffindor and they were apparently the enemy. Despite his violent dislike for the school and its inhabitants he was starting to get the hang of how things worked. It seemed that despite, or perhaps because of, a years long winning streak in Quidditch his house was universally discriminated against and put down by every non-Slytherin at Hogwarts, even the teachers. They were the black sheep of the school. Gryffindor, on the other hand, were the favoured child, and now that Potter was a Gryffindor they were even more popular. Gryffindor could do no wrong and Slytherin no right, unless the teacher involved was Professor Snape. This state of affairs was almost certainly the fault of the Headmaster, who, his father had told him, had used the chaos of the war to put himself in a position of power where he could further his own private agenda and indulge his prejudice against purebloods. It also meant that while the name Malfoy carried weight in Slytherin house it often counted against him in the rest of the school. In the corridors on Monday morning yet another Weasley boy had hissed to him that "they knew what his father was and if he caused any trouble they would deal with him."

The Weasleys really were the lowest of the low, worse than Mudbloods, people like them were the reason the wizarding world was full of Mudbloods to start with. Potter might be an over-hyped prat with terrible taste in both friends and clothing, but at least he had the excuse of being brought up by Muggles. The Weasleys were traitors, pure-blooded wizards who squandered their time standing up for Mudbloods while stabbing their fellow wizards in the back at every opportunity, all out of petty jealousy for those cleverer and better off than themselves.

He suspected that the Sorting Hat was a big con used by the Headmaster to put those he favoured into Gryffindor and those who stayed true to the ideals of the wizarding world into Slytherin where he could keep them down. Only it wasn't working, pure-blood showed through as their past successes in Quidditch and with the House Cup showed!

He was looking forward to the start of the Quidditch season, to watching his house show the rest of them up. He missed flying. Apparently they would start flying lessons in a week or two, as if he needed them! At least he would get to fly a bit even if it was on a scabby school broom. If they were going to have flying lessons anyway it was stupid that they couldn't bring their own brooms to school.

Everyone was crazy about flying, especially the other boys. He had got a great reception to his helicopter story when he had told it at the breakfast table yesterday, even some of the Gryffindors had been listening in, Potter certainly had. Potter probably didn't know which way round a broom went and he doubted any of his little friends would be much help, the Weasleys probably couldn't afford broomsticks. He would leave Potter gaping in amazement when flying lessons started, he would be able to fly rings round anyone in his year for sure. He couldn't wait.

\------

On Monday morning of their next week the details of their flying lessons were announced, they would be on Thursday afternoons - with the Gryffindors! Draco was so excited he completely forgot to gloat in the Gryffindors direction over his weekly delivery of sweets, he did love to rub it in that Potter never got any mail from his relatives. Stupid Muggles probably didn't know how to send owl post, probably couldn't afford to buy him presents if the state of his clothes and glasses were anything to go by. In fact he was so busy picturing Potter's jealous expression as he flew upside down over his head that he didn't notice Goyle eating all his chocolate frogs. When he did notice his extremely depleted pile of goodies and the hardly inconspicuous chocolate stains round Goyle's mouth he refused to speak to him all day out of principal, but really he was completely distracted by ever more fanciful daydreams about how he would dazzle everyone so much that they would be sure to put him on the Quidditch team even though he was only in first year.

These thoughts kept his spirits up through the start of the week and he wrote his mother a long letter about the upcoming lesson with considerably less complaining in it than his usual letters. She wrote back on Thursday morning to say...

Dearest Draco,

I am so glad you seem to be settling in at last, I have been so very worried about you. I hope you are not getting too overexcited about your flying lessons, I know you are an excellent flyer but I am sure the teachers would not consider letting someone so young play a dangerous game like Quidditch no matter how much promise they showed. I would be absolutely terrified to think of my little boy up there with all those bludgers!

Draco looked up from his letter to see a parcel being dropped off at the Gryffindor table, looked like Longbottom's grandmother was still acknowledging his existence. Draco suspected that had he shown the same level of incompetence in his lessons he would have been disowned immediately. He tucked his letter into his robes, scooped the rest of his sweets into his book bag and finished off his toast. Time to go see what Longbottom had and maybe annoy Potter a little just for good measure. Crabbe and Goyle automatically scrambled after him, stuffing the last of their fry-ups into their mouths and, in Goyle's case, a couple of sausages into his pocket just in case.

Draco walked casually up the hall, as if he always strolled past the Gryffindor table of a morning. Looking over Longbottom's shoulder he saw he was holding a glass ball full of red smoke. He had no idea what it was, but he grabbed it out of his hand anyway. Potter and Weasley jumped to their feet immediately, looking as if this was easily enough reason to attack him. Savages. Before Draco could decide what to say to them Professor McGonagall appeared.

"What's going on?" she asked sharply, giving Draco a suspicious look.

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," Longbottom whined.

Draco scowled at him and put the Remembrall back on the table. There was no chance of McGonagall siding with a Slytherin. "Just looking," he said pointedly and left. Trust Longbottom to go crying to a teacher when there was nothing even going on. He was such a cry baby.

"Bet Longbottom sleeps in the girls dormitory," he commented to Crabbe and Goyle once they were out of earshot. "He certainly acts like one. Bet he's scared of flying, just wait till this afternoon, bet he cries or falls of his broom or something."

"We could knock him off his broom," suggested Goyle. To be honest Goyle was a bit of a savage too, actually a lot of a savage. If there was one thing Goyle enjoyed it was breaking things - other people's things - or other people for that matter.

"If you want to push someone off their broom, push Finnigan, just don't get caught doing it," Draco said. "If I overhear him tell that stupid story about racing a Muggle jet plane once more I'll be forced to stab him. Besides I'm quite sure Longbottom can fall off his broom without any help."

"What is a jet plane?" Crabbe asked.

"No idea," Draco answered idly. "I suppose it must be an airyplane made of jet, seems odd to make something that flies out of stone though. Muggles do the strangest things."

"How do they stay in the air?" Goyle wondered.

"Well how should I know?" Draco snapped. "Go ask that know-it-all Mudblood if you really want to know! Personally I don't care how they do it, but it can't be very fast can it, not if it's made of stone."

"I heard they can fly right around the world in less than a day," Crabbe said, clearly too caught up in thoughts of this marvel of Muggle technology to realise just how annoyed Draco was getting.

"I heard they can fly to the moon!" added Crabbe.

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco snapped. "All that is just propaganda spread by Muggle-lovers like the Weasleys and Dumbledore. Besides, why would anyone want to fly to the moon, it's just a big lump of rock."

Goyle looked upset. "Are you sure? I thought there was moon mice lived up there."

"Next you'll be telling me you think it's made of cheese!" Draco sneered. "You'll believe anything."

"No mice then?" Goyle looked very disappointed.

\-----

Draco walked down to the grassy area where their first flying lesson was to take place with plenty of time to spare, the rest of his house trailing behind him. He made a show of acting as if this was simply his due, but he knew it was just that Crabbe and Goyle always followed him around and Pansy seemed to be under the delusion that if she kept tagging along at his heels he would eventually give in to her supposed charms. What she intended to do with him then was a terrifying thought. The other girls followed Pansy of course, as did Nott who seemed to like being bossed around by her. Zabini was the only one who marched to his own tune, whatever tune that was. He somehow managed to follow the group and appear detached at the same time, as though he were taking notes on them all for an essay.

It was a beautiful day for flying, clear with a light breeze. There were brooms already laid out and Draco prowled between them with a growing scowl. "These brooms are a disgrace!" he announced, kicking one particularly poor specimen for emphasis. The handles were bashed and scuffed and the tails were bent and broken. "It'll be a miracle if we make it off the ground."

"They're safe though, aren't they?" said Pansy nervously, sidling up to him.

Draco stepped away from her. "I very much doubt it," he said loftily. "I wouldn't be surprised if they give out above ten or fifteen feet."

"Give out!" Pansy squealed, making a grab for his arm.

Draco avoided her with an ease that was becoming second nature, making it look almost as though he hadn't noticed her there. He could see the Gryffindors marching over the grass towards them, Potter and Weasley in the lead as usual, and their teacher not far behind them.

Madame Hooch was a thin woman of indeterminate age and a dangerous gleam in her strangely coloured eyes. Her hair was short and had a permanently flyaway look as if she had just climbed off a broom. Draco didn't trust her, he wasn't convinced she was entirely human.

Draco narrowed his eyes and glared at them all as they approached. The thought of having to ride one of these pathetic school brooms was putting him in a very bad mood. How was he supposed to show his skills on a substandard broom? He looked around for one slightly less worn than the rest.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" Madame Hooch asked them. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Draco stepped over to the one he had decided was least abused.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom and say, Up!"

Draco stuck out his hand and in a quiet but commanding voice he said, "Up."

The broom sprang up into his hand reassuringly and he swung his leg over it, looking over the rest of the class with a superior expression as most of them struggled to get their brooms to raise off the ground. Annoyingly, Potter was having no such trouble, but Longbottom was getting nowhere. Draco smirked at him and then stared off at the horizon wishing he were already aloft. He was pulled back to earth by Madame Hooch yanking at his wrist.

"Not like that boy, one gust of wind and you'll lose control."

"I've been flying just fine for years holding it like this," Draco protested, returning his hands to their previous position. He could hear Weasley sniggering.

"Do as you're told." She yanked his wrist back again. "I know what I'm talking about."

"Ow!" he yelped. He rubbed his wrist as she turned away. Where on earth did the school recruit it's teachers, St Mungo's?

Madame Hooch resumed her position in front of them and ordered them to take off on the count of three. Pointedly putting his hands back where they had been before, Draco prepared to kick off, but before he could Longbottom disrupted the class as expected.

Before Hooch had even blown her whistle, Longbottom shot into the air with a surprised squeak. Draco rolled his eyes at Crabbe as Madame Hooch shouted for him to get back down. Just as Draco was wondering if Longbottom might end up unwittingly testing the altitude capabilities of the broom the idiot fell off. Draco swallowed back nausea at the cracking noise made when he hit the ground, it was a good thing everyone had been too busy staring at Longbottom to notice him wincing. He quickly schooled his features and by the time Madame Hooch had escorted Longbottom away he had got over his fit of squeamishness.

He looked over at Crabbe, who grinned back at him and made exaggerated crying faces, Draco started to laugh. "Did you see his face, the great lump?"

Crabbe and Goyle started to laugh too, then Pansy, Daphne and Nott joined in, Zabini looked vaguely amused.

"Shut up, Malfoy," said one of the Patil girls.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy answered her. "Never thought you'd like fat little cry babies, Parvati."

Draco ignored them, he had spotted something glittering in the grass near where Longbottom had fallen. "Look!" he said, darting forward to pick it up, "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's Gran sent him." He held it up and peered into it, wondering what it did.

Potter stepped out of the crowd with a determined expression on his face. "Give that here, Malfoy," he demanded.

So Potter was going to try and put on a show was he? Well he'd picked the wrong place for it. Draco grinned in anticipation, his hand gripping tighter around the handle of the broom he was still holding. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect - how about - up a tree?"

He leapt onto the broom and was off, leaving Potter yelling helplessly after him. Merlin, it was good to be back in the air! When he reached level with the top of a nearby oak tree he spun around and waved the glass ball at Potter. "Come and get it, Potter!" he shouted triumphantly

To his surprise Potter grabbed up his broom. Ignoring Granger's protests he mounted it and kicked off into the air. Draco stared in shock as Potter shot up as if he'd been flying all his life and wheeled around to face him with a look of untamed glee. "Give it here or I'll knock you off that broom!" Potter snarled, his eyes sparking behind his glasses.

For a split second Draco couldn't remember what he was talking about, then he realised he was still clutching the glass bauble in his hand, leaving him with only one hand to steady his broom. "Oh, yeah?" he answered weakly, trying to look as confident as he had felt five minutes ago. Surely Potter didn't actually know what he was doing up here, he'd been raised by Muggles, he couldn't possibly have flown before. But Potter looked terribly confident on that broom.

Suddenly Potter was diving towards him and Draco almost lost his grip swerving to avoid him. Whether he knew what he was doing or not, Potter was flying like a maniac.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Potter said, and Draco could swear he saw madness glinting in his eye. What if Potter really did mean to knock him off his broom? He could break his neck falling from this height! He'd be dead before any of the teachers found him, there would be nothing to do but transport his broken body back to the Manor for burial in the family crypt, he'd be doomed to haunt Hogwarts for the rest of eternity! All because Potter was mentally unhinged and had some sort of grudge against him. How was he supposed to escape Potter when even the Dark Lord fell before him.

Draco felt dizzy, he had to distract Potter and get back on the ground. "Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted desperately and threw the glass ball away from himself as hard as he could. He sped back towards the ground, clutching his broomstick tightly and hoping that Potter wasn't chasing him.

He landed a little harder than usual and then spun around to see behind him. He caught sight of Potter diving to the ground some way off before his view was blocked.

"Draco!" Pansy gasped. "Are you all right?"

Behind her someone shouted out, "He caught it!"

"He what?" Draco spluttered, pushing his way past Pansy just in time to spot McGonagall bearing down on them. For once her fearsome glare was not directed at him but at Potter, who was still picking himself up off the ground.

"Ooh," Pansy cooed in anticipation. "He's in trouble now, Madame Hooch said if anyone touched the brooms they'd be expelled!"

"Really?" said Draco, delighted, then quickly, "She didn't see me did she?"

But it didn't seem she had as she was far too busy shouting at Potter to even glance his way. Draco stepped up next to Crabbe and Goyle and made sure to give Potter a wide grin as he was led away.

"Well," he said loudly once they were gone. "So much for him!"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" said Weasley angrily. "What do you know?"

"A lot more than you do, Weasley. You'll need to find some other poor sap to put up with you now, perhaps you can pal up with Longbottom."

"She won't really expel him will she?" said Lavender Brown, making concerned cow eyes.

"Madame Hooch did say..." began Granger.

"Shut up, Hermione!" wailed Weasley. "He's not going to get expelled!"

"Someone get a handkerchief," Draco sneered. "Weasley's going to cry."

"I'll tell you what Weasley's going to do!" the Gryffindor growled. "Weasley's going to punch you in your stupid pointy nose."

Draco looked unimpressed as Crabbe and Goyle loomed menacingly either side of him. Granger caught hold of his arm and hissed something in his ear.

"Oh, please, do let him try," Draco said smoothly. "Both of them being expelled in the same day would greatly raise my opinion of the school."

Before Weasley could pull himself loose from Granger a strident voice came from the direction of the school. "Right then! Everyone back in line," ordered Madame Hooch. "No need to let a little accident stop the lesson."

They quickly reformed themselves into lines next to their forgotten broomsticks. Madame Hooch looked them over and frowned. "Where has Potter got to?" she asked, scanning the skies.

"Professor McGonagall wanted to talk to him," Draco answered helpfully, smirking at Weasley.

"All right then," she said. "Everyone remount their brooms and we'll try this again. Don't forget to kick off gently!"

And so they continued their flying lesson as if Potter weren't packing his meagre possessions up and probably snivelling into his trunk as he did so. That would teach him to try and knock Draco Malfoy off his broom.

Draco was pleased to see that he was indeed the best flyer in his class. Pansy and Granger could hardly get off the ground, although he got the impression Pansy wasn't really trying. Millicent Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle were hard to tell apart once airborne, three clumsy, black clad figures with no real talent but also absolutely no fear, they shot about like particularly large bludgers and in the end they did succeed in "accidentally" knocking Finnegan off his broom.

Weasley tried very unsubtly to crash into him a couple of times, but Draco dodged him easily and then flew a couple of rings around him for good measure. Weasley was so angry he almost slipped off his broom trying to twist around to yell after him.

All in all it was a very enjoyable afternoon.

\-------------

When Draco arrived in the Great Hall that day for dinner he wasn't surprised to see Potter, every condemned man deserves a last meal after all, but he was confused to see him looking so cheerful. Surely he had at least got detention even if he hadn't been expelled, McGonagall had looked furious.

Potter was speaking animatedly to Weasley about something that was making the red-head gape like a dead trout. He had to find out what was going on, this was ridiculous. If he had been caught by McGonagall he wouldn't have been grinning and laughing like an idiot about it, but then he wasn't a Gryffindor was he? He wasn't Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Boy Who Could Do No Wrong! It was so unfair.

Draco fumed at his dinner for a few minutes then thought, well, even if Potter had somehow got off with only a slapped wrist, surely a few more black marks on his record might change that. If he was perhaps caught out of bed after hours by that caretaker and his fleabag cat...

"Come on you two," he snapped at Crabbe and Goyle. "We need to go pay a visit to Potter."

"Right now?" asked Crabbe, his voice muffled by a mouth full of steak and kidney pie.

"Yes, right now," he said impatiently. "You can't be that hungry, you ate enough to feed the whole school at lunchtime, I have no idea how you managed to get off the ground this afternoon."

"Ha ha," said Crabbe sourly, getting up. Neither he nor Goyle took Draco's insults to heart, they were used to them, it was just the way Draco was.

He led them over to the Gryffindor table, walking slowly to avoid bumping into two of the older Weasley's. "Having a last meal, Potter?" he asked hopefully when they got there. "When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"

Potter looked up at him with cold superiority, looking far too composed for Draco's comfort. "You're a lot braver now you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you."

He heard Crabbe and Goyle mutter and tense either side of him, but they knew better than to do more without Draco's okay. He desperately wanted to give it, right this moment he felt there was nothing he would like more than to watch them pound Potter's smug expression into a pulp. How dare he sit there being so bloody confident when he should be on his way back to London. Just because he had got lucky again, didn't make him better than Draco by a long shot. He was struck by a moment of inspiration. "I'd take you on any time on my own," he told him. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel." Potter looked confused. "Wands only," he explained. "no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

As he waited for Potter's answer, extremely happy with having wiped most of that cool confidence away, Weasley butted in. "Of course he has. I'm his second, who's yours?"

Trying not to smile, he faked trying to decide which of his two companions would make the better second. "Crabbe," he said finally, and then casually laid the trap. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room, that's always unlocked."

When there was no immediate disagreement he nodded curtly. "Good, see you then Potter, Weasley. Don't be late." He made his escape before he could give the game away by laughing.

When Draco tried to lead Crabbe and Goyle on out of the hall they immediately protested. "I haven't finished my dinner yet," Goyle complained.

"Me either," said Crabbe. "Aren't you still hungry? You hardly ate anything for lunch."

"I never eat much before I fly," Draco excused himself. "I've had enough, I want to go now."

"Well, we'll see you later then," Crabbe said hopefully.

"Fine then," said Draco a little sulkily. "I'll see you later."

He left the hall as if he were heading down to their dormitories but then took a side corridor that led back out into the main body of the school. Checking to make sure none of the Gryffindors were around he slipped down the corridor that he knew led to the office of Mr Filch, the school's caretaker.

He had never spoken to Filch before, all he really knew of him was what he had heard from the older students in his house. He sounded pretty scary, but in order for this to work he had to tip someone off and the only other person he could think of was Snape and that would be too obvious. Besides, he didn't want to risk Snape thinking he was a tell tale or that he was so childish he was playing pranks on Potter instead of focusing on his school work.

So, since Crabbe and Goyle had deserted him for the sake of their stomachs, he would have to figure out how to tip off Filch alone and to add insult to injury he was missing dessert.

In the end he decided it was too risky to tell him face to face, it would have to be anonymous... a note, left in the corridor outside Filch's rooms as if it had been dropped there by accident.

In block letters he wrote, "MIDNIGHT, TROPHY ROOM, DON'T BE LATE!" He crumpled it up a bit and left it lying on the shadowy stone floor, then he fled.

When he got back to his dormitory he took out his Potions textbook and started reading up in preparation for tomorrow's class, but it wasn't long before he was interrupted.

Crabbe and Goyle burst into the room. "Draco!" said Crabbe. "You can't duel Potter tonight!"

"I have no intention of duelling Potter tonight or any night, I have better things to do, and how many times do I have to tell you to stop using my first name."

"Sorry, we're just used to calling you that."

"Well get unused to it."

"What do you mean you're not going to duel Potter?" asked Goyle. "You said..."

"I know what I said, and if you two hadn't been in such a hurry to go back to dinner I could have told you what I was doing earlier."

They waited patiently for Draco to explain himself.

"I'm setting Potter and Weasley up, I've tipped off Filch and when they go out to meet us tonight he'll catch them out of bed. That on top of Potter's little show this afternoon should get him into enough trouble that they can't just ignore it for a change. They'll have to punish him."

"Oh, I see," said Goyle. "So we're still going to Astronomy then?" he looked disappointed.

"Yes we're still going to Astronomy. Did you finish your star charts?"

"Greg drew Ursa Major upside down," said Crabbe.

"I did not!" Goyle protested.

"Did so."

Draco sighed. "Let me see it then."

It was upside down. In fact most of the constellations were upside down or back-to-front, due to the fact that he and Crabbe had done their homework at the same time on opposite sides of the same desk. Goyle had simply copied Crabbe's chart as he'd drawn it, but hadn't quite managed to get his head around how to get everything turned around properly. It was a complete disaster and it took Goyle all evening to recopy it using one that was facing him. Somehow he still managed to get Ursa Major wrong.

Draco found it next to impossible to concentrate on the night sky that evening, wondering if Potter had shown up, if Filch had found the note. He had a sudden awful thought. What if there was a spell that could tell you who had written something! In fact now he thought about it, he was almost certain there was. He stepped back from his telescope in horror. What if Potter didn't show up and Filch did the spell on the note and thought Draco had done it on purpose to trick him?

"Have you located it, Mr Malfoy?" asked the hoarse voice of Professor Sinistra.

"What!" he squeaked, then coughed to cover it up. "Not yet," he said in a steadier voice. "Just taking a moment to rest my eye." He went back to his telescope and tried to focus on finding the nebula they were looking for, he kept forgetting the coordinates.

That night he had a run of thematic nightmares in which he was expelled from school over and over again, but each dream varied in how. Once he was already home but he knew it was because he had been expelled and he was waiting for his father to come home from a trip and find out he had been expelled. In another one they had both been caught on the brooms by McGonagall and Potter had rolled about on the ground laughing as McGonagall had expelled Draco and completely forgiven Potter who was inexplicably dressed only in leaves. In that one he had screamed and yelled at the unfairness of it and hit McGonagall over the head with his broom several times. Then there was a really weird one where he was Harry Potter but everyone still thought he was Draco Malfoy and he got expelled for saying he was Harry Potter, when he'd looked in a mirror in that dream he'd had a scar on his forehead and glasses and green eyes but his hair had still been blond.

 


	5. Troll in the Dungeon

He was really tired in the morning and the last thing he needed to see as he hauled himself into the Great Hall was Potter looking a bit worn but excited and not the least bit as if he had been caught out of bed last night and expelled. Once more he was talking animatedly to Weasley as if his evening had been one big party. It was beyond annoying.  
  
Potter looked up and saw him staring at them, Draco did his best to wipe the aghast look off his face but he was pretty sure he had seen it.  
  
After that Draco decided he was going to ignore Potter as best he could. He wasn't worth the effort. At least he had the satisfaction of Potions class, having everyone see how Potter coped when he wasn't being given special treatment. The Gryffindors were pretty bad at potions aside from one or two of them, it was clear that Goyle aside the Slytherins were by far the more intelligent house.  
  
Draco was finding his classes a little easier now, he was starting to get the hang of the focusing and relaxation techniques needed to get a spell to work. He had noticed that the more worried he was about getting a spell right the less likely it was to work. As a result he was still doing badly in Transfiguration, McGonagall kept glaring at him and it put him off. He did a lot better at it when he practised alone in his dormitory, but that wouldn't help his grades any.  
  
His mother was concerned about his education too, although not so much about his grades. Narcissa Malfoy came from a very artistic family, Draco's grandfather had been a classical musician, and his grandmother had written a lot of poetry, much of which had been set to music by his grandfather. As such he had been studying music since he was six years old. His mother had decided that she was not going to let this fall at the wayside while he was at Hogwarts, and had arranged for a tutor to come in every Monday afternoon to give him his piano lesson. While Draco was not as enthusiastic as his mother was about his music he did agree with her that it was a disgrace that there was no provision for the arts at all at Hogwarts, although there was occasional talk among the board of Governors, of which Draco's father was a member, about providing art or music lessons. His father thought this was a waste of time though and it was one of the few topics on which his parents occasionally argued. That and about him, as far as his father was concerned his mother spoiled him, he had been told that by him often enough. His mother didn't like him flying either and that was one of the few areas in which Draco took his fathers side against her.  
  
It was on the way back from his music lesson that he was waylaid by Pansy Parkinson. He had rather thought they had come to sort of an impasse and one that he was reasonably satisfied with, she hung around in his general vicinity and he ignored her. It wasn't perfect but it was acceptable to him. Apparently not to her.  
  
"Draco, wait."  
  
He paused. "Pansy," he said cautiously.  
  
"I need to talk to you."  
  
Draco waited.  
  
"Draco?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I need to talk to you!"  
  
"I know that! I was waiting for you to say whatever it is you wanted to say."  
  
Pansy looked upset. "Why must you always be so mean to me!" she exclaimed, her lip wobbling a little.  
  
Why must she always make such a scene of everything, she was simply intolerable. "I am not being mean to you," he said at last. "Can I go now?"  
  
“But you are!” she wailed. “My father said I should make friends with you because he’ll probably arrange for us to get married and you don’t even like me at all!”  
  
Draco stared at her in abject horror. “What?”  
  
But instead of replying Pansy turned around and ran back down the hall crying.  
  
Draco stared after her. His parents wouldn’t possibly… he raced off to write a very worried letter to them about the possibility of his being married to Pansy Parkinson.  
  
–  
  
Draco was watching the post owls very carefully that morning as he was still waiting for a reply regarding Pansy. As a result he was one of the first to notice the unusually bulky parcel being brought into the Hall by no less than six owls. The package had a very distinctive shape and was deposited in front of Potter.  
  
Typical of Potter to break school rules and order himself a broom. Of course he hadn’t counted on it being delivered so obviously.  
  
Draco was already on his feet with Crabbe and Goyle before Potter and his cronies got to theirs to try and smuggle the package out before any of the teachers spotted it, and he managed to head them off before they reached the stairs in the Entrance Hall.  
  
He snatched the package out of Potter’s hands and made a show of feeling it up and down, even though he knew what was in it already. "That's a broomstick," he said, jealous of Potter’s gall. "You'll be for it this time, Potter, first-years aren't allowed them."  
  
Of course Potter seemed not the slightest bit worried about getting into trouble.  
  
"It's not any old broomstick," the Weasley said. "It's a Nimbus 2000. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet 260?” The Weasley grinned as if that were hilarious, even though the Comet 260 was an excellent broom. “Comet looks flashy, but they’re not in the same league as the Nimbus.”  
  
Draco eyed Weasley haughtily. "What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle," he snapped back. "I suppose you and your brothers have to save up, twig by twig."  
  
Just then Professor Flitwick appeared at Draco's elbow. "Not arguing, I hope, boys?" he squeaked.  
  
This was perfect, a neutral teacher. "Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," Draco said quickly.  
  
"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick looking indescribably happy about it. “Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?”  
  
Draco stared at him. Not Professor Flitwick too. Was there nobody in this school who wouldn’t let Potter waltz all over the rules?  
  
"A Nimbus 2000, sir," said Potter smugly, practically laughing in Draco’s face. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it."  
  
Draco was completely bewildered. What did he have to do with Potter getting unfair permission to have his own broom at school?  
  
Potter and Weasley had swept past him and taken the broom upstairs, their sniggers eventually travelling out of earshot.  
  
“Sir,” he asked Professor Flitwick. “What special circumstances?”  
  
“Never you bother with all that, Mr Malfoy,” said Flitwick casually. “All will be revealed eventually I’m sure.”  
  
Then he walked away as well leaving Draco fuming in the middle of the Entrance Hall.  
  
Just then his father’s owl swooped through and found him with the letter he had been waiting for. He looked at it dumbly, not sure he could cope with any more bad news this morning. But he supposed he better get it over with, if he did have to marry Pansy he wanted to know about it as soon as possible.  
  
Draco,  
  Miss Parkinson’s father is no more than an acquaintance and although pureblooded her family are of little importance in the current political climate. It is far more likely that we would arrange a match with the Carrow family who have two daughters who will start Hogwarts in a year or two, or possibly one of the Nott girls as their Uncle is a good friend of mine. Although they are older than you which is never ideal. However I do encourage you to remain on good terms with Miss Parkinson, circumstances may change over the time you spend at school and she is not entirely inappropriate.  
  The Greengrasses have already approached me about a possible match, but there is a blood curse that runs down their family line making them a very poor choice indeed, so I have put them off. You may make a point of keeping the Greengrass girls at a distance in case they get any ideas of trying to wheedle their way into your affections. Their father is quite desperate in his attempts to make them a decent match.  
  I am pleased that you are already considering such matters, marriage is a very serious topic for those of good stock and a bad marriage can ruin a name entirely.  
 Your father, Lucius Malfoy  
  
Draco put the letter thoughtfully into his book bag. In truth he had never thought much about who he might have to marry one day until Pansy had brought it up, he supposed he wasn’t really surprised that his father had already put so much consideration into it. Although he was surprised about the Greengrasses. Daphne Greengrass hadn’t shown any sign of trying to latch onto him the way Pansy had. He supposed he would just leave it up to his father to deal with, he didn’t care much who he married really. Unless it was Pansy, who was awful. Or Millicent Bulstrode, who was surely part troll. Or Granger, but his father would never marry him to a mudblood or even anyone who was only a half blood, so that ruled loads of people out.  
  
He supposed Potter would get to marry whomever he wanted, just like he got to do what ever he fancied at school. His stupid parents probably would have let him pick who to marry even if they weren’t dead. He’d probably marry a Weasley, he was practically joined at the hip to the one in their year already. There were millions of them after all, some of them were bound to be girls.  
  
He realised he was standing alone in the Entrance Hall, Crabbe and Goyle had most likely gone back for more breakfast. He put his letter away and headed off towards class, annoyed at Potter all over again.  
  
–  
  
Samhain was going to be awful, Draco realised. The school wasn’t even calling it Samhain, they were calling it Halloween like they were muggles. There wasn’t going to be any bonfire or any ritual or anything. Just a stupid feast and some lame decorations.  
  
Draco had written to his mother when he found out asking if they could come and get him and take him to ritual with them. But apparently only 5th year students and above were allowed to go out of school for Samhain even if their parents were the ones taking them.  
  
“I bet if I was Potter I’d be allowed to go,” he spat as he paced up and down in front of Crabbe and Goyle. “I bet if he wanted it the whole bloody school would bend over and make it happen just for him. Stupid Potter and his stupid scar! Who cares that he’s only eleven and looks more like a house elf than a wizard! Let’s give Potter his own broom at school, let’s throw the rules away and let him do whatever he wants. Bet they make his bed with silk sheets and do his homework for him too!”  
  
Crabbe and Goyle just munched on toffee apples and watched him. They had learned it was best to just let Draco go when he was on a Potter related rant. That much ire was far too easily pointed at them if they broke his flow.  
  
All the same when they got to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast Draco was prepared to try and have at least a mildly good time. Even if it was stupid and boring and unfair. Until he walked in and discovered the room was full of thousands of live bats, swooping low over the students heads in droves.  
  
“What the hell?” he yelped in a most undignified fashion as he ground to a halt and was nearly knocked over by Goyle. He attempted to continue to walk to the table without ducking away from the vermin above him. “This is… unhygienic,” he pronounced as he sat down. “We could catch a disease. It’s revolting.” He glared at the food looking for bat droppings.  
  
Before he could bring himself to even consider trying to eat anything, there was a commotion as Professor Quirrel came racing into the hall in a panic, sending the bats screeching. He reached the teachers table and slumped against it in front of Professor Dumbledore. “Troll,” he panted, “In the dungeons. Thought you ought to know.” And then he passed clean out.  
  
For a shocked moment Draco thought the troll was supposed to be another horrible part of the Halloween decorations. Then his brain caught up with him and he shot to his feet in terror.  
  
All around him people were panicking. Trolls were massive and almost impossible to stop magically. Most spells just bounced off them. And they were partial to human flesh if it happened to come near enough.  
  
Purple fireworks shot up from the teachers table as Professor Dumbledore tried to get everyone’s attention. “Prefects,” he called. “Lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!”  
  
There was more chaos at the Slytherin table. “But our dorm is in the dungeons!” cried one third year.  
  
The six prefects were trying to get everyone to follow them, but a lot of people were protesting the decision.  
  
“Right,” said Draco, half to himself. Then louder. “Right.” Pretty much all of the first years and a few of the older kids nearby looked to see what he had to say. “We’re going to Ravenclaw, come on.” He began to march out of the hall after the flood of Ravenclaw students who had already mostly made their way out in good order.  
  
“Where are you going,” he heard one of the Slytherin prefects shouting at him, but ignored them. He was not going anywhere near the dungeons if there was a troll down there, and that was final.  
  
They were half way up to Ravenclaw Tower before someone noticed his band of about seventeen Slytherins following along at the back.  
  
One of the Ravenclaw Prefects dropped back and stopped them. “Here, where do you think you lot are going?”  
  
“There is a troll in the dungeon,” answered Draco haughtily.  
  
“I know that,” the Ravenclaw said, annoyed. “And you’re supposed to be going to your dorm with your prefects, not sneaking up here.”  
  
“We’re not sneaking anywhere,” said Draco, insulted. “Our dorm is in the dungeon, where the troll is. Aren’t you Ravenclaws supposed to be the smart ones around here?”  
  
“Well you can’t just follow us, only Ravenclaws are allowed in the Ravenclaw dorm,” said the prefect stubbornly. “You’ll have to go back down.”  
  
“So let me get this straight,” said Draco, summoning up every bit of his Father’s attitude that he could. “You’re telling a bunch of first years to go back downstairs where there is a troll probably waiting to eat them, because Slytherins aren’t allowed in the Ravenclaw dorms.”  
  
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” swore the Prefect. “I don’t know. You shouldn’t have come up here in the first place, I’m sure your Prefects knew what they were doing, you should have just gone with them.”  
  
“Do you know how to fight a troll?” Draco demanded.  
  
“Well… no.”  
  
“And do you know where exactly in the dungeons this troll is?”  
  
“No, of course I don’t.”  
  
“Then why is it you think the Slytherin prefects do?” said Draco triumphantly.  
  
“Look… I just… I mean… oh,” the Ravenclaw prefect looked around desperately. The Ravenclaw’s were out of sight by now and there was no-one but her and the Slytherin’s. “You’ll have to come with me, I’ll find a teacher to look after you.”  
  
She started back downstairs slightly nervously and there was nothing they could do but follow as they didn’t know exactly where the Ravenclaw dorms were now that they couldn’t follow them.  
  
They all arrived back at the Great Hall, huddled behind the Ravenclaw prefect and feeling rather nervous.  
  
Pansy was clinging to Theodore Nott’s arm and Draco was strangely annoyed about it. He may not like Pansy or want to marry her, but that didn’t mean she could decide she wanted to marry Theodore Nott instead, he was much better than Theodore Nott.  
  
Suddenly there was a roaring, dragging sound from just up a nearby staircase. Everyone screamed, including the increasingly twitchy Ravenclaw prefect.  
  
“It’s the troll,” screeched Pansy Parkinson and made a dash for the stairs down to their own dormitory. In a rush everyone followed her, including the Ravenclaw.  
  
They raced down to their common room door and rushed inside. Waiting till everyone else was in Draco shut the door smartly in the Ravenclaw prefects face saying only, “Slytherins only!”  
  
“Where have you lot been?” barked one of their own prefects. “We nearly had to send someone out to find you!”  
  
“We… er… “ said Pansy Parkinson.  
  
“We were nearly attacked by the troll,” announced Draco. “We had to take a detour to escape. It chased us, but we hid and it went up the stairs to the first floor.”  
  
Everyone was suitably impressed, though some of the older students looked a bit suspicious as the tale grew more and more detailed with each retelling. Especially when Goyle claimed to have punched the troll in the stomach to give everyone time to get away.  
  
Fortunately their claim that it had gone upstairs was borne out later when Professor Snape informed them that the troll had been captured on the second floor and although it was now safe they would be finishing the feast in the Common Room.  
  
Of course when they got to the Great Hall the next day for breakfast Potter and his Weasley tag-a-long were spreading some ridiculous rumour about defeating the troll themselves by sticking a wand up it’s nose or something. I mean really, if you’re going to make up a story at least make it believable scoffed Draco to Crabbe and Goyle, as if two first years could defeat a troll! Draco was starting to wonder if Potter really had defeated You-Know-Who at all or if it was just another tall tale to cover up what had really happened.  
  
“I mean how likely does it seem really?” he asked Crabbe and Goyle rhetorically. His father always asked a lot of rhetorical questions, though Crabbe and Goyle were still struggling with when they were supposed to reply and when they weren’t. He could see their brows furrowing in thought and hurried on. “I mean that You-Know-Who was somehow foiled by a one year old baby. It’s ridiculous. Much more likely that someone else did it, some grown up wizard who wants to remain anonymous.”  
  
“But why wouldn’t they want anyone to know?” asked Crabbe.  
  
“Well...” Draco thought about it. “Maybe they’re a secret, like a secret Ministry hit wizard that no one is allowed to know about for their own safety. Or an Unspeakable or something.”  
  
–  
  
As the year proceeded into November Draco finally heard the news via the Slytherin team that Harry bloody Potter was the new Gryffindor seeker. Even though first years aren’t supposed to play on the quidditch team or have school brooms.  
  
He finally understood what Potter had meant when he said he got his broom because of Draco. McGonagall had seen him catch that stupid remembrall he’d thrown and apparently that had been enough to get him on the team. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t like Draco couldn’t have caught a stupid remembrall on his broom if he’d wanted to or if someone had asked him to.  
  
Potter would probably be awful anyway, just cause he could fly a bit didn’t mean he could play quidditch. Quidditch was a dangerous sport, people hit bludgers at you and players got really badly hurt all the time. Draco made a point of reminding Potter of this whenever he saw him.  
  
“Hey Potter,” he yelled across the corridor on the way to Charms on Friday. “Better have Weasley run underneath you with a mattress if you want to survive the game, our Beaters are going to flatten you tomorrow!”  
  
Potter turned a pleasingly queasy colour.  
  
“Piss off, Malfoy,” shouted the Weasley.  
  
Draco rolled his eyes and strolled on smugly.  
  
–  
  
Draco woke up bright and early on Saturday, well early considering it was Saturday anyway. He was really looking forward to watching the game, Slytherin always won the Quidditch cup  and seeing Potter embarrass himself in front of the whole school would just be an added bonus to what was certain to be a brilliant game.  
  
Draco loved watching quidditch. He was going to be a professional quidditch player when he grew up, although he pretended to his Father that it would just be a hobby cause his Father said that needing an occupation was common. Unless you went into politics, apparently it was all right to go into politics because that was about power not money. But he could go into politics after he had played quidditch.  
  
Settled in the Slytherin stands, Draco watched the game avidly. He was used to watching professional quidditch, usually his father would have taken him to at least two games already this season, if he’d been at home. Another thing Hogwarts had ruined. School quidditch wasn’t nearly so impressive and Draco was rather disappointed to discover that Gryffindor seemed to have a fairly strong team, Potter aside. He was hovering so far up he could hardly be seen, probably scared of all the action going on below him. Pathetic.  And the Slytherin team seemed to be mostly reliant on muscle over skill, which was a bit worrying. Slytherin’s beaters were okay, but Flint aside, their chasers and keeper didn’t seem to be as good as Gryffindors. Not that he’d admit that if asked. Never mind, at this level the seeker was more important and Slytherin’s seeker was bound to be better than Potter.  
  
Then finally the snitch was spotted and both seekers dived for it. Draco was horrified to discover that Potter was faster than Higgs, he was surely going to get there first. He flew like a madman still, much as he had when he had confronted Draco all those weeks ago. Even as he was helpless not to slightly admire Potter’s form, Draco yelled with the rest of his house for the beaters to stop him.  
  
In desperation, with neither of the Beaters able to get there in time, Flint hurled himself and his broom bodily at Potter, sending them both spinning off course. Unfortunately in all the distraction Higgs had lost sight of the snitch as well and Gryffindor got a penalty shot for the foul.  
  
The beaters finally managed to get a bludger at Potter, but he dodged it again easily and lurched off to the side in an odd move that had Draco’s heart in his throat thinking he had spotted the snitch again nearby.  
  
But instead Potter’s broom just continued to bounce around in a bizarre fashion. He seemed to have lost control of it and it was trying to buck him off. Draco started to laugh. This was brilliant. Potter looked terrified.  
  
“Look at Potter,” he said. “I think his broom wants a better rider!”  
  
The people around him started to notice what was going on. Some of them laughed as well, but a few gasped in fear as the broom started to roll over and over with Potter only just managing to cling on.  
  
“He’s going to get thrown off,” Pansy gaped, half in horror and half in fascination.  
  
The broom gave another jerk and Potter slipped off, only clinging on by one hand now.  
  
Draco’s stomach gave a lurch, but he forced his face into a sneer. “Doesn’t know what he’s doing, that broom’s far too much for him, ridiculous that he even got put on the team,” he said, trying not to imagine what it must feel like to dangle by one arm so high off the ground with a broom that was doing it’s best to kill you.  
  
The Weasley beaters were trying to get to him, but the broom kept jumping higher up every time they came near. Draco had never flown so high, his mother would never let him go higher than the roof of the Mansion. His broom at home had a ceiling spelled onto it at that height. But quidditch brooms had no ceiling on them, you could fly them straight up and not stop until you ran out of air and passed out. Draco’s great great uncle on his mother’s side had died that way, trying to prove that a broom could fly to the Moon. He had been a bit touched in the head.  
  
Potter was so high up now he was only a tiny flailing toy. Draco couldn’t look away. He thought he might be sick at the thought of what would happen if a person fell from that high up. Even if it was Potter.  
  
Suddenly someone tumbled on top of Draco, almost frightening the life out of him as well as crushing him against the wooden stand. He panicked and yelled, kicking at whomever was squashing him.  
  
As he untangled himself and was helped up by Goyle he realised it was Professor Quirrell who had knocked him over and that in Draco’s flailing he had managed to kick him in the back of the head. He was clutching at his turban and staggering to his feet.  
  
Draco wasn’t sure whether to apologise for kicking a teacher or demand an apology for being crushed. But before he could do either, Professor Snape was pulling Quirrell back up the stand and hissing something in his ear as he brushed off his robes. Snape looked a bit dishevelled too, which wasn’t like him, and Draco wondered if he’d gotten in a fight with Professor Quirrell.  
  
The crowd around the stadium was cheering and Draco spun back around, suddenly remembering Potter. But Potter was back on his broom and nearly on the ground again, when he suddenly fumbled the landing and fell to the ground, safely, spitting something out of his mouth.  
  
He waved it in the air… the snitch. After all that, Potter had only gone and caught the snitch.  
  
“No!” Draco howled, as the stand around him and the teams on the ground erupted in a confused mix of celebration and angry denial. “You can’t catch it in your mouth! That’s ridiculous!!!” Draco yelled.  
  
Although Flint stayed behind to argue with Madame Hooch about the legitimacy of the catch, the rest of Slytherin House made it’s way glumly back to their Common Room.  
  
Slumped on his bed back in their dorms with Crabbe and Goyle a glumly willing audience Draco vented. “I bet he wasn’t even in any danger at all, he was showing off that’s what he was doing. Couldn’t bear to have people watching anyone but him! Desperate for attention. And it’s cheating!” He stood up and began to pace. “Distracting everyone like that until he saw the snitch, now that’s underhand. A cheap trick. And catching it in his mouth, I mean really, what is that even about? Who does that? Like some sort of frog, that’s it, a wide mouthed frog catching flies with it’s stupid sticky tongue. He looks like a frog with those skinny legs and stupid glasses. A stupid cheating show-off wide-mouthed fly-eating frog!”  
  
He made a mad, wide-eyed frog face and Crabbe and Goyle laughed half heartedly.  
  
“Oh go away,” he told them, irritably. “They’ve got snacks in the Common Room, go and stuff your faces. I’m going to write to my Father.”  
  
And he pulled out his quill and ink and threw himself onto his bed to do just that.


End file.
